See No Evil
by WadeH
Summary: What if Elizabeth Bennet COULD NOT dance with Mr. Darcy at the Meryton Assembly; for some reason other than the gentleman being distraught and cranky and stuck up and shy and stubborn and a bit of a jerk when you get right down to it. Let's find out.
1. See No Evil

_A/N: Welcome back to my loyal readers and a hearty welcome to new ones!_

 _This story is once again a radical writing experiment, although I won't tell you exactly what I'm trying to do… just that it's a somewhat different from my previous work… as usual. I imagine I might settle down eventually._

 _The writing style is based on an idea one of my reviewers PMed me, although I was never quite sure if she was suggesting it seriously or as a dare. I guess we will find out. You can give your praise or censure to lgordon, who has a nice short story you should read._

 _There are actually two new elements. The second new trick is something I put in an author's note a while back is a joke and decided to give it a try. _

_You will see some of the tricks in the very first page, but you can assume any story with a cheatsheet is a bit off the rails. After that, it will take a couple chapters to see what the second and most radical part of the experiment. I must forewarn you, chapter 3 is unprecedented in scope, content and style._

 _This is novella length so far, and I expect it to stay that. It's planned for 6 longish chapters (3-5k per)._

 _As usual, OOC, OTT, all the other O things that might scare off the meek._

 _Warning: **Has some violence in later chapters.**_

 _This is Regency, starting at the Meryton Assembly. Note that there is no definitive timeline in P &P, and most of the time I use the traditional 1811-12, but this year I'm moving it back a year, so it starts in 1810. _

_Wade_

 ** _Update: 2-20-18_** _– This story has a different style for each chapter (that's the experiment). The first chapter was pretty much universally disliked (it had emojis) so I removed them and reverted to a dialog-only style like The Wedding Afternoon._

* * *

 _Assembly Rooms – Meryton, Hertfordshire – Tues 15 Oct 1810_

* * *

"You are staring, Mr. Darcy."

"I beg your pardon!"

"You are staring, Mr. Darcy."

"My apologies Miss… er… madam. I realize that is unaccountably rude."

"I am not censuring you, sir."

"You are not?"

"Absolutely not, I assure you. More likely showing off, I should think."

"If that is your objective, you have achieved it… er… Miss… er… madam… uh…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and you are Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy! There, is that better now that we have had a proper introduction? May we presume to have bowed, curtsied, looked embarrassed and inquired of health and weather?"

"What about the state of the roads?"

"That as well!"

"Not _precisely proper_ , Miss Bennet, but sufficient for our needs I believe."

"I am Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bennet is my eldest sister Jane – your Mr. Bingley's _latest angel_."

"Oh… I… I… Oh…"

"Do not discompose yourself sir, I meant no censure that time either. _Are you always this jumpy?_ "

"In crowded assembly rooms, I imagine I am."

"I thought so. I can practically smell it. Do you feel you have a giant matrimonial target on your back, sir?"

"Er… Ah…"

"You know what I mean – your pounds and pounds, carriages and carriages, acres and acres, circles and circles, etc. etc. etc. – and I imagine such a wealthy man must be unbearably handsome as well!"

"Well…"

"You are staring again, sir."

"Yes, well, you…"

"Yes, yes – I know. I discompose you. _The blind girl_ always does that."

"I… I apolog…"

" _None of that, sir! _You need to learn to quit apologizing every second sentence, or go back to talking to sighted people. Or perhaps you could return to stalking angrily around the room if you prefer that to my company."

"Stalking?"

"Yes sir, it sounds ever so much better than ' _sulking'_ , does it not?"

"Are those my only choices?"

"I fear they are. Of course, you _could_ _quit stalking, quit sulking_, and make yourself amiable for your friend's sake. His standing in the community might be adversely affected by your disposition."

"My disposition?"

"Yes sir. The words _haughty, arrogant and proud_ have been spoken, but of course by your social inferiors, so it probably does not matter to you, but it does to them. I hope I do not offend you with my candor."

" _Actually_ … candor is appreciated, _and quite rare_. However, I have not the honor of knowing any lady beyond my own party."

 _"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room!_ Is your protégé similarly sulking, or happily dancing? _"_

 _"I have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."_

"I have not the talent which some people possess, of detecting the difference between a wall, a closed door, an open door and a cliff. I cannot catch the tone of my boots except in a very quiet room. I cannot appear interested in architecture, as I often see done, and I find it most inconvenient when I mistake a wall for an open door."

"Are you mocking me, madam?"

"Yes, sir, I am! You say you cannot converse easily when surrounded by enemies?"

 _"I did not say that!"_

"But you thought it, or something very similar!"

"Did you exchanged your eyesight for the ability to read minds?"

"Touché, sir… or is that word considered unpatriotic… never-mind… I was always a studier of characters. I must confess more complex characters are more interesting, and you are my victim for the moment. You are mostly helpless since no gentleman would pick on a blind girl, and if you stalk away angrily your expression will be entirely wasted on me."

"You are refreshingly confusing, Miss Elizabeth. Pray, continue with this chastisement."

"You say you cannot catch their tone of voice, sir? Well for me, tone of voice is _all_ I have now. I just had to practice, but I imagine you do not trouble yourself to do so."

 _"You give your opinion very decidedly…"_

 _"For a blind woman?"_

"Do not put words in my mouth. I have enough trouble with the ones I put there myself."

"Touché, again, sir!"

"Would it be untoward to ask…"

"Ask anything you like Mr. Darcy. That is the benefit of talking to me – the reward for tolerating my impertinence and your obviously acute embarrassment."

"I do not understand?"

"I am the safest conversationalist in this room… even safer than that woman you came in with who is clearly stalking you. By the by, I might recommend a stout lock on your room or a large dog… Or perhaps both!"

"How did you know…"

"Patience, sir. Am I wrong?"

"Probably not."

"Shall I answer _your_ impertinent question?"

"I cannot even remember what it was."

" _Would it be untoward to ask…_ You see, Mr. Darcy, there are benefits to talking to a blind woman."

"Such as"

"You can actually ask any question you like. I can get away with anything, and that protection extends to you. Nobody knows how to adapt the rules of propriety for a woman who once freely traipsed all around the country, is known to everyone in the village, but is blind now. They know how to handle one who was always blind, or has blindness caused by injury, war wound, old age or fever; but my sight just gradually disappeared over a month a couple years ago with no real fuss. Except for not being able to see, I do not look the part. Nobody knows what to do with that."

"And that applies to our earlier discussion how?"

"I am the safest woman in the room for conversation by every measure. You are safe from both myself and matchmaking mamas like mine because I am so obviously unsuitable for marriage. I would of course be completely unsuitable for a man of your circle _even with my sight_ ; but without it, nobody could possibly think I have designs on you. Conversely, not even my mother would deign to interrupt the one man that would pay me attention to me in a month, and even she would not drag you away to one of my more suitable sisters as that would be too vulgar even for her. Therefore, you are safe from all enemies."

"An extraordinary assertion, ma'am."

"Go ahead if you dare sir. Pick any woman in the room and make eye contact, and see if they do not look away."

XXXXXX

"Right as usual, Miss Elizabeth."

"I thought so. I am impervious to impropriety. I could drag you into the library by your cravat, presuming I could find the door that is; come back an hour later with my dress backwards and my petticoat lost; and everyone would just assume it is another quirk of the sightless. If you say something untoward and I should happen to repeat it; everyone will assume my hearing or understanding is diminished by my blindness. I am not the least missish as I will eventually be a companion to someone's ancient aunt, so I wish to have all the good conversation I may before that happens. Therefore, you are perfectly safe in my company."

"I… I…"

"At least from everyone else."

"Er…"

"Ask your question, Mr. Darcy!"

 _"What did you gain when you lost your sight?"_

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XXXXXXX  
XXXXXXX

"I have you flummoxed, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I am all astonishment, Mr. Darcy."

"Why?"

"That is _not_ one of the usual questions…"

"Such as?"

"How long have you been blind? Can you see anything at all? Why do you not cover your eyes? Why have your eyes not turned cloudy? Are you a witch? **Can You Still Hear?** Oh, you poor dear, how will you ever catch a husband? What did you lose with your lost sight? Can you see anything at all… anything? Are you a witch? Are your sisters going blind too? How about your papa? How do you not bang into every tree in Hertfordshire? Is your hearing improved? Will I catch it if I talk to you? If you had children, would they be blind? Are you a spinster yet, and if not how long until you buy the cap? Why do you still come to assemblies if you cannot even watch the dancing? ..."

"I get the idea."

"Nobody has ever asked that question."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody!"

"They all assume it is _only_ a loss!"

"Exactly"

"So, answer the question, if you dare."

"Impertinent pup, are you not?"

"Yes, ma'am. Stop prevaricating. The question!"

 _"I gained clarity and peace of mind, Mr. Darcy."_

XXXXXXX

"Clarity? Peace of Mind?"

"Yes sir."

"Please Explain!"

"If I still had my sight, my mother would be pushing me to _secure_ one of the rich gentlemen, both of whom are obviously in want of a wife. I would naturally be dreaming unrealistic girlish dreams of finding my one true love… who knows, maybe it would have been you… No need to smirk, Mr. Darcy. I know how unlikely it would have been."

"You assume I am smirking?"

"Am I wrong?"

"No"

"I would wonder what my future was. I would be hoping for so much more. Love, marriage, children, long life, adventure with an amiable and loving man… all that while trying _not_ to admit that I had basically no dowry, four sisters and no brother, an entailed estate where I may be thrown into the hedgerows when my father dies, a loud and uncouth mother, two or three silly sisters, and not a single eligible and amiable man within twenty miles. I would still have hoped for all that despite the odds. My mother would have pushed me relentlessly at any man in trousers that happened to cross her path, and doubly towards any rich man, and our acquaintance would have been miserable. I do not doubt one of us would have hated the other on sight. However, now that it is all gone, I need not repent its loss, as I know what my life will most likely be."

"How do you see it?"

"I am intelligent sir, frighteningly so according to some in the neighborhood who are easily frightened, so I can still do useful things. I am teaching a few children to read now using books I memorized years ago and some letters made by my friend John Lucas and his wife. I may be able to continue that in some capacity one day… perhaps at a school for the poor or some such that cannot afford to be choosey. Maybe I can be the one that starts teaching most of the poor girls of a neighborhood to read and write. I imagine with one older girl as assistant I could do quite well. I am an excellent conversationalist, good listener and the most sensible of my sisters. I can help people that are melancholy or confused by simply listening to them and giving their problems due consideration, even if I do not offer any good suggestions. I can do something _useful_ despite my eyes, and most importantly, _I can be happy_. _Being happy is a choice, you see._ Now that I have no more exalted hopes, I may rejoice in those that remain. _That sir is what I gained – clarity and peace of mind… and that leads to happiness."_

"So, you are saying that limiting your choices has left you more content with those that you believe you have left?"

"There is no need to couch it in hypotheticals, Mr. Darcy. My status is what it is… but to answer your question, yes, I believe reducing my choices has left me happier with what is left. It is a bit of a paradox, really."

"Singular, I would say. I am not certain I could be so sanguine."

"I hope you shall never have to learn, sir. It does nothing to rail against your fate. I got all of that out of my system the first year or two, and I must own that _tilting at windmills_ did not accomplish any more for me than it did for _Don Quixote_. I am content."

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XXXXXXX

"Enough of that! It is time for you to quit sulking, Mr. Darcy."

"NOT sulking."

"Quibbles, Mr. Darcy. Let us get on with it!"

"Get in with what?"

"Give me your arm, and I will introduce you to some people, and help ease you into conversation. It will give you a chance to practice and being sociable, and me a chance to practice at helping someone. If necessary, I shall translate whatever they say into English for you. Who knows, being in my company may even extend the imperviousness of my anti‑matrimonial shield over you… I hear Charlotte just over to our right. Let us start with her."

"Very well. Take one step to the right, Miss Elizabeth and then five steps forward."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy."

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XXXXXXX

"Miss Charlotte Lucas, may I present Mr. Darcy of a giant estate with scads of blunt from the Great North! Mr. High and Mighty Darcy, my best friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas."

"Lizzy. That hardly seems proper."

"Yes, I believe the gentleman agrees, so you had best leave this den of impropriety. Perhaps you can discuss it while you dance."


	2. Hear No Evil

_A/N: Looks like the emojis are about as unpopular as you might think, so I'll consider that a failed experiment. They seem to be neutral at best according to the reviews._

 _I forgot to mention in the original post that there is some violence later in the story, so you have been warned._

 _I would like to give a special shoutout to Florausten_, who is a blind reader reading a story about a blind Lizzy with a screen reader which I find very interesting. Us software geeks would call that 'meta'. The emojis really played havoc with the screen reader.

 _And now, welcome to part 2 of the writing experiment. You'll probably figure out what I'm doing by chapter 3. The next several chapters are quite long, 5-6k per chapter._

 _Loving the reviews and PMs, so keep em coming. Wade_

* * *

 _Netherfield Park – Tuesday, 12 November 1810_

* * *

The sun was less than a hand-span above the Eastern horizon when Fitzwilliam Darcy walked around a large leafless oak tree from his morning ramble. He paused in his wandering for a moment, intrigued by an odd and unfamiliar sound. Being a master of an estate and living on one all his life, he was always surprised by any sound that he could not immediately identify, as they were few and far between.

He paused about a dozen yards from the white sandstone steps leading up to the front door of his friend Bingley's leased estate, Netherfield. The sound was coming from his right and appeared to be a few hundred yards away. Without thinking he turned immediately towards the source, only to be blinded by the sun shining directly in his eyes. He immediately pulled off his beaver to try to block the sun, but his eyes had already been overwhelmed, so it would be a moment before he could see clearly. It was a clear autumn day, crisp and cold, with a very light pleasant breeze blowing from the south. There had been no rain for well over a week, so the drive was clear of mud, dirt and debris, which his valet would no doubt appreciate.

He pursed his lips in concentration as he listened carefully to the sound.

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

The odd tapping noise was quite regular, repeating perhaps a half‑dozen times, before there was a small pause of a few seconds, and then a resumption of the sound.

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _XXXXXXX_

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

 _Tap… tap… tap… Thunk._

His curiosity fully engaged, he turned toward the sound, and continued peering into the blinding sunlight trying to ascertain the possible source. The sound was coming closer, but not very quickly. He at first thought it might be a badly repaired wagon, but the sound was moving much too slowly for that, unless it was being pulled by a mule that had died a fortnight prior. It was even too slow for a walker, so he was most perplexed. He had not quite resolved the source of the sound, as he could not quite block enough of the sun to see, when the mystery was resolved by a voice.

"You are staring again, Mr. Darcy."

The words were followed quickly by a clearing of his vision, and much to his surprise, he was greeted by none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet walking down the lane, looking like a goddess walking out of the sun. She was carrying a light cane, and the noise was her tapping it a few times in front of her, followed by a thunk on the fence that abutted the lane. She had spoken without slowing down, so Darcy was able to observe her progress. Miss Elizabeth was apparently using the cane to check for obstructions in the lane, and using the fence to ensure that she stayed near the edge. He surmised she stopped every few paces to listen for any worrying sounds.

Once again surprised by her banter which seemed to skip entirely over the usual greetings, without giving offense, it took him a moment to regain his composure enough to answer.

"Miss Elizabeth. What an… unexpected pleasure."

He wondered if there had ever been a stupider reply to a greeting in the history of the English language, but it was the best he could do. This woman caught him by surprise more often than not. They had been in company half a dozen times, and he had to admit that his vastly improved standing in the neighborhood over what it would have been was entirely due to her efforts. She dragged him around making introductions, prodding him to have discussions, steering him to the worthier companions and away from others, and otherwise instructing him in basic manners for nearly a month.

He had to admit to himself that Miss Elizabeth looked exceedingly lovely this morning, as she always did. She was in a pale-yellow morning dress with a green ribbon tied just below the empire waist, and covered with a dark green pelisse, which was open at the front. She was wearing a straw bonnet with a simple blue ribbon. He could see sturdy and well-tied walking boots peeking out of the front of her skirts, and a simple necklace was her only jewelry. Her clothing was simple, with very little adornment, which he imagined was a conscious choice. He speculated on whether that had been her style before losing her eyesight, an acknowledgment of her new reality, or simply the practicality of having less to go wrong. Either way, he found the lack of lace, jewelry, feathers and other accoutrements refreshing after so much exposure to overdressed and over pampered ladies, with the worst example a couple dozen yards away.

 _"I have come to see my sister."_

Once again caught off guard, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, " _On foot!"_

Her face acquired a small grin, and he wondered if she was aware of her expressions as much now that she could no longer see as she had previously. She replied simply and elegantly, "As you see."

He surmised that was all he was likely to get out of her without a little bit more effort, and was intrigued to find her here this early in the morning.

"I beg your pardon Miss Elizabeth, you simply surprised me and my tongue ran ahead of my thinking, which as you well know, happens from time to time."

He was happy to elicit a small giggle from the lady, but instead of smothering it as most ladies were trained to do, she simply enjoyed it for what it was. It was neither overly loud and boisterous like her younger sisters, nor smothered in civility like young ladies were taught in seminary. It was exactly as it sounded.

"I take no offense, Mr. Darcy. I do not imagine you find blind women wandering up the lane every day, so it is hardly surprising you are unaccustomed to the tradition."

Her laugh and her small smile brought an unexpected feeling of pleasure to the gentleman, and he thought perhaps he might extend the conversation.

"Did you walk all the way from Longbourn, Miss Elizabeth?"

The lady had been holding her cane out nearly perpendicular to her legs, and set the tip on the ground and lifted it more vertical to a position where she could hold it with less effort, much like he would do with a walking stick when pausing to talk with an acquaintance. She folded her hands together over the top of the cane, and prepared herself for the discussion.

"Yes sir, it is but 3 miles."

Darcy was surprised by the scale of the endeavor, but she immediately set about putting his mind slightly more at ease.

"Be easy, Mr. Darcy. After receiving Jane's note last night, I was anxious to see her… well… not _see_ her per se, but talk to her and determine if I could do something to make her illness easier. My sister Mary was planning to visit Charlotte Lucas anyway, so she aided me the first couple of miles; after I dragged her out of bed at dawn by her hair of course. I have only been walking down this lane for the past three quarters of a mile or so. My father would have happily sent me in the carriage, but I prefer the walk. I do not do well in carriages."

The matter-of-fact way she said this, left him a bit astonished.

"So, three quarters of a mile alone is not that much for you?"

She smiled again, somewhat enigmatically, and replied, "I once thought of 3 miles as practically nothing. Before I lost my sight, I would wander in the woods for hours and hours nearly every day. Now I must be a bit more circumspect, as you might well imagine. However, Thomas checked this lane carefully, and reported its condition to me last night, so Mary was sanguine about allowing me the last little bit on my own."

His curiosity aroused, Darcy asked, "Thomas?"

"The footman who brought the message yesterday. He is well known to me, and is one of those who always checks the lanes and paths he happens to cross for debris, puddles or any other obstacles. The people who happen by Longbourn always keep me apprised of the condition of all of the trails and lanes they happen to pass."

Darcy was struck by the kindness of these people, which was not overly surprising considering the personality of Miss Elizabeth. That so many would go out of their way to give her such intelligence must be a testament to her character. Darcy was still a bit surprised that her father allowed her to go so far unassisted, particularly without her eyesight. On reflection, he had to admit that it would probably take a very stern father to be able to deny her anything. All his experience with her to date indicated that she would do and say mostly as she pleased, but she did it in a way that everyone simply agreed that her idea was the most obvious and most sensible course of action. He could use that type of…

The thought struck him suddenly, without warning, and somewhat disconcertingly. He would obviously not have this lady in his life after he left Hertfordshire, and he was struck by a surging feeling of sadness at what that would be like. There was clearly nothing to be done about that, but it was an odd, unexpected and frankly unwanted thought that he might peruse at another time.

Seeking to try for once to show proper manners, he asked, "Would you care for breakfast, Miss Elizabeth. I am certain the rest of the household is just sitting to table."

"I thank you Mr. Darcy, but I have already broken my fast. If you would be so kind as to assist me to the breakfast room, I would like to pay my respects to the master and the hostess, thence to ask permission to wait on my sister."

He had to chuckle a bit at this bit of seemingly perfect dose of propriety. He imagined she could perfectly well get to her sister without his assistance, but who was he to quibble?

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Elizabeth."

His long legs ate up the few yards between them in a few paces, and feeling somewhat bold, he simply reached down with his left hand to place her left hand it in the crook of his right arm. He reached over and took her cane in his left hand, having not the vaguest idea whether that would be considered polite or not. It seemed gentlemanly enough, so absent further instruction he would carry on as planned.

"Miss Elizabeth, it is perhaps a dozen paces to the bottom of the steps. I will warn you when it is time to ascend. There are eight steps to the door, and as you probably know, the breakfast room is on the left once we enter the front door."

He was gifted by a genuine smile at his thoughtfulness, and he had to admit that it brought a similar smile to his face, and he wondered if she could detect that in any way.

* * *

The conversation in the breakfast room was cordial and to the point. Miss Elizabeth did not bother to swat away any of the somewhat catty comments Miss Bingley threw her way, and within a couple of minutes, she had curtsied and made to leave the breakfast parlor.

Darcy turned to escort her, but she waylaid him by saying, "Please, Mr. Darcy. There is no need to avoid your meal on my sake. Thomas is right out in the hallway, and I shall be quite safe in his hands."

She made a bit of a smirk towards the table, and Darcy had to concede that she had trapped him neatly. He would happily have gone to the stables and eaten an apple in the company of the stable hands to avoid a meal with Miss Bingley, but there was little choice now.

He loaded a plate from the sideboard, got some coffee and sat down to table whilst discussion of the unexpected guest flowed around.

 _" You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley; "and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."_

 _"Certainly not."_

 _"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum_ or even good common sense _."_

 _"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley._

 _"I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."_

 _"I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton."_

 _"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."_

 _"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed heartily._

 _"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."_

 _"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy._

Darcy was only participating in the conversation at the table with a quarter of his mind at best, so it was a moment later when at nearly the same time, he realized what had been said, and he also heard Miss Elizabeth speaking at only slightly more than her normal volume.

"… and as usual, I thank you for your diligence on the lane, Thomas. Tell me, is Ellie over her cough yet, and when is Mrs. Jameson going to come over to ask Hill for…"

It was only a snippet of conversation on the wind, and it took him a moment to start wondering at something he had read. Some asserted that when people lost their sight, they sometimes compensated by developing better hearing. Some asserted that the body adapted to the loss, and others claimed that the blind simply paid more attention to what was already coming into their ears. Either way, he had listened to Elizabeth Bennet enough to know she rarely if ever raised her voice. She had done so this time quite deliberately, but not enough for anyone any farther from the door to be able to hear. If she was a master of acoustics as he suspected, she was simply telling _him_ in her own subtle way, that she had heard some or all their conversation… and he realized, that she was not likely to have enjoyed it very much. All in all, he had not acquitted himself noticeably better than the superior sisters, and he thought an apology might be due as soon as it could be arranged.

* * *

Evening came and the company retired to the parlor after dinner, without the usual separation of the sexes at Miss Bingley's insistence. Darcy thought that playing cards with Caroline Bingley and the Hursts was probably better than allowing his horse to kick him, but only marginally. Therefore, with the greatest alacrity he managed to occupy himself with writing a letter to his sister. He had a lot to say about Miss Elizabeth, and now seemed a good time.

He had not seen the lady since breakfast as she had mostly kept to her sister's room. Miss Bennet was apparently a good deal more ill than anybody had thought, and had been alarmingly feverish all day. The local apothecary asserted she just had a very bad cold and would most likely be fine in a few days, but Darcy was skeptical. It sounded a lot more like guesswork than anything else, but it was not his business. Bingley had somewhat precipitously invited Miss Elizabeth to stay. He had requested a trunk from Longbourn before Miss Elizabeth really had much to say about it without being impolite, but she seemed appreciative.

The lady had apparently requested a tray in her room with a simple meal for both luncheon and supper, and had been tending to her sister all day without very much relief.

Caroline as usual had latched onto his person like a small dog attaching herself to his trousers, and was prattling on and on about his writing, his letters, his sister, her accomplishments and he knew not what else. Aside from watching to be sure she did not slip in some type of verbal matrimonial trap, he paid her not the slightest attention, even when she started reading the second volume of the book he had been reading earlier and taking turns around the room to try to show off her figure.

Hurst was asleep as usual, and Bingley was at least three‑quarters asleep himself, vacillating between falling over on his chest, and falling back on the chair.

Darcy was right in the middle of a most interesting paragraph when two things almost simultaneously impinged on his conscience. The first was that the endless droning prattle of Miss Bingley came into focus enough to catch the disjointed end of some tirade she was making with her sister, at a volume that she apparently thought confidential, or more likely she did not care.

" _that dress… no… fashion… no lace… and those eyes. Why does she not cover them like proper blind people do? Does she now know how disconcerting it is for people of quality to have to look at them? And her conceited independence, does she not know that we all put up with her only out of pity? That no man, no matter how desperate will ever take her over someone who is… whole and complete, not to mention more attractive and better dressed? Why is she even here? Is she trying to trap poor Mr. Darcy? You must have seen her pawing over the gentleman. She cannot be trusted. She probably takes liberties with the local men. You saw how she attached herself to the only true gentleman in the neighborhood. I am certain she is in league with her mother to secure him while her vulgar sister traps Charles. Those sorts of people should not be let loose on the rest of us more deserving…"_

He was instantly absolutely and coldly furious. It was the angriest he had ever been in his life, comparable to his anger at Wickham, so visceral was his reaction. Before he knew what had happened, he had snapped the quill in half and stood up knocking both the chair and his desk over, inkwell flying onto the carpet, papers scattering everywhere. His fists curled into balls, and his face contorted into rage, prepared to deliver the setdown of a lifetime. Full of righteous anger, he felt for the first time in his life that he could seriously considering striking a woman, when his attention was arrested by the sound of some piece of furniture falling to the floor outside the parlor door, followed closely by the sound of _somebody_ hitting the floor as well. He did not hear a cry, or anything else besides the sound of a person striking the floor _hard_ and his anger turned to fear. Caroline Bingley was entirely forgotten for the moment as he tried to work his way through the morass of badly placed furniture towards the parlor door. He was on the other side of the parlor so had a dozen yards to cover, and his progress was impeded by Miss Bingley jumping up in alarm and grabbing onto his arm, an action that came within a hair's breadth of costing her a fist in the face.

In an action that seemed like it might have taken an hour, he finally crossed the parlor to the door, skidding to a stop outside in the hall. He looked on in mortification as he saw a small end table lying in the middle of the hardwood floor, and the back of Elizabeth Bennet's dress as she ran up the stairs, both hands clutched on the balcony, limping badly and stumbling almost to her knees every fourth or fifth stair, only to catch herself and continue without uttering a single sound. Worried to death, he called to her, hurried to the stairs and followed her up, as quickly as he could, trying his best to offer her assistance. When he reached the top, he hurried towards the guest wing where the Bennets were staying, only to hear Miss Elizabeth's door slam shut like a harbinger of doom.

The gentleman was still standing breathing hard in the middle of the hall between the rooms the Bennet sisters occupied looking both hurt and ready to kill someone when Bingley appeared. Bingley had been asleep when the words were spoken, so Darcy repeated them softly, as verbatim as he could remember. They first tried talking quietly through the door to Miss Elizabeth, but she would not answer even though he was quite certain he could hear her breathing heavily, as if she had collapsed against the door and slid to the floor. They eventually asked first a maid, and then the housekeeper to check on both Bennet sisters. The servants reported that the elder Miss Bennet was still quite feverish, but resting for the moment, and Miss Elizabeth told them all was perfectly well and she was retiring for the evening.

Neither of the men were in the least bit fooled by that assertion, but there was nothing they could do with respect to the Bennet sisters except await the morning and try to apologize and set things right.

As for the younger Miss Bingley, Darcy hoped her brother would _finally_ grow enough courage to deal with her appropriately, but with a sinking feeling akin to what he had felt three years prior with George Wickham, he hoped rather than believed. In the end, he doubted the result would be any noticeable improvement. As for himself, he was _entirely done_ with Caroline Bingley and decided he would never speak another word to her. He determined to sever all connections and cut her direct if she ever tried to talk to him. He asked Bingley to the library, and told him of his resolution, as well as the fact that his sisters would no longer be able to use his name to gain invitations to social events, then left it to the younger man to rein in his sister.

* * *

Dawn found a very troubled Darcy sitting alone in his room, having been listening to the sounds of the house and the woods outside for hours. He was not the one making the disparaging remark in this latest debacle, but his lack of defense for Miss Elizabeth earlier in the breakfast room, and the insulting way he had talked about the Bennet sisters' marital prospects more than once, put him clearly at fault. He also had to admit, to himself at least, that many months of prior indulgence had allowed Miss Bingley to believe she could push the limits of civility beyond all bounds with impunity. He had even agreed with her on many occasions with assertions that were uncharitable at best. Oh, how he wished he had spoken out, but like Bingley before him, the implacable wall of Miss Caroline Bingley was one that no sane man would willingly scale.

Now he found that it was way past time for him to grow up and start acting like a man, and probably far‑far too late. Allowing someone in his presence to disparage a lady was beyond the pale, but he had been letting the harridan get away with it for months out of laziness and a misplaced sense of manners.

Today was the day to start making amends. He had been rehearsing apologies for hours, and even had some notes, and half a dozen starts at letters for Miss Elizabeth, and he need only await a decent hour to try to speak to her. He was dearly hoping to catch her alone to avoid some embarrassment, but that idea caused him even more shame. Was he trying to avoid embarrassment for her or for himself? Without a clear answer to that question, he could not ascertain if he was being any closer to a true gentleman or not; it he was resolutely determined that today was the day he would make amends and start acting the gentleman.

He was startled out of that internal debate by the surprising sound of a coach coming down the lane, despite the early hour. Wearing only his banyan, he ran to a room near the end of the hall where he could see the front driveway, and stared down in mortification. As he sat there helplessly, he saw the coachman jump down, and hurry out of sight towards the front stairs. He came back a few minutes later supporting one side of the elder Miss Bennet who was still looking terribly pale and sickly, but mostly walking under her own power albeit very slowly and with an occasional stumble. Her sister, Miss Elizabeth was holding up her other arm, although she was still limping noticeably on her left side. No servants were helping her, most likely either at Miss Elizabeth's orders to save them from any potential wrath of Miss Bingley; or more likely the sisters had simply sent a note to Longbourn the previous evening without telling anyone the contents and sneaked out of the house with nobody the wiser. Miss Bennet was talking to Miss Elizabeth, and Darcy assumed giving directions. The step up into the coach seemed to be too much for the elder sister, but in a trice, Miss Elizabeth put one foot on the step and a hand on each side of the door, then climbed into the coach unassisted, but still favoring her injured leg and nearly falling over. Once she was inside, she turned about and the coachman simply picked up Miss Bennet and set her carefully inside with what Darcy believed to be a look of longstanding respect and affection. Miss Elizabeth helped her sister over to a seat, sat down beside her and said a few words to the coachman, who nodded and climbed aboard.

As Darcy looked down in consternation, Miss Elizabeth pulled a rug off the far seat, settled it down around herself and her sister, wrapped her arms around the elder Miss Bennet protectively, and the coach left, presumably towards Longbourn.

* * *

The sun was midway to the top of the sky, but not giving any noticeable amount of warmth by the time misters Darcy and Bingley arrived at Longbourn. Instead of the flurry of activity they expected to see at any window that overlooked the lane, the house looked quiet and still. It was the very start of the polite time for a morning call, but they surprisingly found Mr. Bennet sitting on a bench on the front porch with an open book sitting on his lap, but no indication he was reading or had been doing so recently.

Darcy had occasionally seen the man at some of the entertainments they had attended, and the elder gentleman rarely seemed to be serious about anything. He had even caught the man apparently making sport of his younger daughters, and occasionally even his wife. In Darcy's limited experience, only the two eldest daughters were always spared. Now the man looked most serious, as he stood up and addressed them as they descended from their horses.

"Gentlemen, may I presume upon your time for a stroll in the garden?"

"Of course, Mr. Bennet. We are at your disposal."

At that, he led the two men to the garden where they wandered among the dormant plants for some time. Darcy and Bingley both knew an apology was well due to both Bennet daughters, and to their family as well but had no idea how to start.

Darcy finally decided that he was most at fault, and started to speak, only to have the older gentleman hold up his hand to dissuade him, so that he could have the first word.

"Gentlemen, I may only presume that either or both of you are here to explain _why_ I had to assist my very ill and feverish but exceedingly stubborn elder daughter up the stairs at first light; or _why_ I cannot get a single word of explanation out of either her, or her normally much more voluble blind sister, or perhaps _why_ this is the _only_ day of their lives they have presumed to use my carriage without my knowledge or permission?"

Darcy said, "Yes sir, that is exactly why we are here."

Mr. Bennet looked at the two of them critically, and replied, " _I am displeased, gentlemen!_ I am most seriously displeased, but I am relieved that you both seem inclined to do your duty as gentlemen. I do not suppose though that I am the one you want to talk to."

Mr. Bingley replied, "Of course you are owed an explanation Mr. Bennet. I must admit sir…"

He was stopped again by Mr. Bennet raising his hand, and he gave the father his chance to speak first.

"Gentlemen, I do not actually need to hear any apologies or excuses at this moment. I doubt very much the experience will build much character for either of us."

Both looked critically at the father, and wondered if he was to simply ban them from his daughters' company. It was well within his rights, and almost certainly what Darcy would do for his sister in the same situation. He stared at both younger men for what felt like some time, before replying.

"Gentlemen, I am not the ones you will have to apologize to, as I am certain you must know."

Both simply nodded, giving the man his due.

"Even so, Jane is now asleep and if you try to talk to Lizzy… well, I shall not be responsible for any injurious words spoken nor actions taken, and let me assure you that being on the end of one of her setdowns will do nothing for your equanimity. Do you understand?"

Both nodded, although they had no idea what to do next.

"Gentlemen. Go home. If something untoward happened in your household, deal with it. If er… corrections need to be made in your society, then see to them. My daughters _may or may not_ receive an apology from one or both of you in one fortnight, _if_ you still inhabit the neighborhood, and _if_ _they_ desire it. Nobody save a few very trustworthy servants knows exactly why or how they got here, and I will take steps to insure it remains so. As far as the neighborhood, including my wife and other daughters is concerned; Jane was not as sick as supposed and preferred to recover in her own bed."

They nodded at the odd judgment, having no idea what else to do.

The gentleman continued, "Mr. Bingley, I heard mention of a ball planned for the 26th of November. Is that still your plan?"

"Yes sir, but I would change it should you ask it of me."

"No… no… no need to change anything, Mr. Bingley. It will make it easier… well, not easier but simpler. _If_ either or both of my elder daughters feel inclined to give you a chance to apologize, they will appear at the ball, and you may commence groveling at your leisure. If they do not appear, you may assume the matter is closed and go about your business, and of course if you do not feel the need to apologize or explain, you are welcome to either leave the county, quietly rescind the invitation, or simply greet my girls as the most indifferent of acquaintances in future."

The two looked at each other and at the lady's father. Both had hopes that some abject apologies at this point, while certainly not redeeming them, might at least begin making amends. Their father obviously thought that was too easy by a wide measure, and neither gentleman could blame him.

With a heavy heart, the two men climbed back aboard their horses, and walked back out the drive.

Upstairs, one lady watched them go with more than a touch of sadness at the absolute and insurmountable unsuitability of such an amiable man's family's total lack of propriety or even common decency. Jane Bennet could put up with a lot, but insulting her sister Lizzy was very-very far beyond even her limits. Insulting her for her blindness was… was… she could not even think of it. Jane fancied herself quite lucky that she had not had time to allow her heart to be engaged, as there was no way possible to attach herself to such a thoroughly unsuitable family, regardless of how rich, handsome and amiable the spineless brother was.

Her next younger sister stood quietly beside her holding her hand, tears running down her cheeks quite unnoticed, regretting that perhaps the only man she had allowed herself to believe possibly worthy of true friendship since she lost her sight, had turned out to be much more as she had feared and much less as she had hoped.


	3. Speak No Evil

I would like to thank you dear reader for the inestimable privilege of reading my small narrative, and I flatter myself that you may find it informative and even perhaps entertaining. Before I began I might like to state my reason for taking up the quill for this little missive. Firstly, I do this to record the story exactly as I observed it, and having been placed in the extremely fortuitous position of being able to witness all the events firsthand, I flatter myself that my rendition should be able to enlighten and inform you, and perhaps a lesson in morality may be ascertained such as to improve the moral fiber of any who choose to partake of my narrative. Secondly, I have been charged both by my patroness, the incomparable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as well as my cleverest of cousins, Miss Elizabeth Bennet to leave no detail unexpanded, and to leave no doubt is a to the veracity and completeness of the enclosed tale. Thirdly, I flatter myself that one day, perhaps sooner than later I may have my own children of whom such a tale of adventure and rectitude may be of some minor interest. I hope you will indulge me in this matter.

As you may know, I am a humble clergyman, and possession of a very good living in the town of Hunsford in Kent, a mere half-mile from the incomparable estate of Rosings, under the direction of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. In addition to this beneficence, I am also, through no extraordinary merit of my own, the heir to the estate of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. This lovely estate was known to be in possession of £2,000 per annum of income, and currently under the mastership of my esteemed uncle Mr. Thomas Bennet.

My esteemed patroness is not one to hold entails as being a worthy way to dispose of property, but also is not one who can make any changes to what generations past have done. When she learned of the fact that I was heir to an estate with five daughters, she naturally applied her sense of justice and generosity to suggest a likely remedy. Since all the ladies were unmarried, and she clearly believes any clergyman in her own living should naturally be in want of a wife, she suggested the obvious solution. Under direct recommendation, I went hither to Hertfordshire, with the intention of offering an olive branch in the form of an offer of matrimony for one of the ladies, whom I had been reliably informed were amiable. It seemed likely that of five daughters, at least one should be through beauty, character and disposition of suitable temperament and deportment to become mistress of my parsonage, and after many years of waiting, mistress of her childhood home of Longbourn.

Upon my arrival, I found that the ladies were indeed all possessive of the type of beauty that any man would aspire to. I naturally, in deference to the preferred order of things, inclined myself towards the eldest, Miss Jane Bennet, as was her right and privilege as eldest, as has been instructed into my humble understanding for many years. It was but a short time after arrival though, when the matron of the house, Mrs. Francine Bennet, informed me that Miss Bennet was likely soon to be engaged, and therefore unlikely to be a proper matrimonial target for myself. Being both humble and cognizant of the respect and deferral due the lady of the house and mother to the cousins, agreed to abide by her will.

The next in both age and beauty, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, was unfortunately of the affliction of sightlessness. For a man of my station, to reject a wife because of this condition may seem to be lacking in Christian charity, but I was also of concern about whether she would be able to perform the duties of a person's wife, which frequently included visiting parishioners, assisting with the poor, and such other things as from time to time my noble patroness might suggest as suitable duties. I also might add, based on my insistence on frankness that is the hallmark of my patroness, that I also found Miss Elizabeth to be frighteningly impertinent, and at the very least, three or four times as clever as I am. Not being a man to overstate my accomplishments, and while admitting a true cousinly respect for Miss Elizabeth, I felt no need to spend every day of my life shackled to someone who would talk circles around me even without the use of her eyes. In the interest of fairness, I must concede that that previous thought was unworthy of me, and uncharitable towards my cousin. I in fact endeavored to remove such unworthy verbiage from this missive at all, but when my cousin became aware of the language, she laughed until she cried, and insisted that should I remove it from my final clean copy, she would… Well it is best not to elaborate too much on her threat.

As it was, I came to the third in line, and much to my liking, I found a woman of plain and unassuming beauty, not overly forward or pretentious, diligent and thoughtful in her reading of religious texts, and of no mean accomplishment on the pianoforte. Thus it was, that my attention was turned towards Miss Mary Bennet, and much to my delight, the young lady did not appear displeased by my attentions.

My eldest cousin, Miss Bennet was taken ill one night during a visit to some friends at a nearby estate, Netherfield Park. They were obliged to stay overnight, and were returned in their father's carriage the next day. Miss Bennet thought herself to have recovered most of her equilibrium, but she had not recovered quite as well as she maintained, and was thus obliged to spend the next three days abed.

Upon her recovery, we were informed that the neighbor, one Mr. Bingley, was planning a ball at Netherfield one fortnight hence. Having been thus appraised of a ball, and in possession of five daughters, at least four of which still had the use of their vision, my cousins all determined it absolute necessity to visit the shops in Meryton and prepare for said entertainment through acquisition of such female accoutrements as are deemed to be completely essential to the proper operation and enjoyment of a ball. While I felt a certain amount of guilt about abandoning their father Mr. Bennet, the gentleman was effusive in his forgiveness, and assurance that he would prefer that I escort his daughters into the local village of Meryton, and thus hither we journeyed.

As was my extreme privilege, Miss Mary was upon my arm the entire mile into the village, and our conversation was all that could be hoped. We had a very liberal discussion about Fordyce's sermons, and other religious texts of which she could claim much more than average knowledge. Much to my delight, she had several very practical and thoughtful questions about the parsonage, its position with respect to Rosings, how often we journeyed to Rosings for tea or supper, the disposition of my gardens, the schedule of worship, the number of parishioners, and… well, suffice it to say the mile disappeared in a trice.

The eldest Miss Bennet, whilst still looking a bit peaked but insisting on her good health, moved rather slowly. Since she was assisting her next younger sister, Miss Elizabeth, who as I previously mentioned and lamented was absent the use of her visual facilities, we all found the pace to be appropriate and satisfactory.

Upon entry to the village, my two younger nieces, Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia espied some militia officers of whom they were acquainted. I had been told that the young girls were rather loud and vulgar, but they seldom were in the presence of Miss Elizabeth who seemed to exert a calming influence upon them. They were everything demure and polite as they crossed the street, to meet and give solicitations to a pair of militia officers, Lieutenants Denny and Sanderson.

After appropriate greetings had been exchanged all around, the aforementioned officers set out to introduce a new acquaintance to the area, one Mr. George Wickham, of whom it transpired was to join the militia henceforth. He was a very gentlemanly looking man, possessed of what my younger cousins assured me was the most handsome mien, and who certainly possessed good manners and condescension in abundance. He chatted quite happily with the group, and was in fact surprisingly quite enamored with my cousin Miss Elizabeth, and was talking to her nearly to the exclusion of everybody else. She, being naturally of a social disposition was quite disposed to talk to the gentleman in her turn for quite some minutes.

I was watching the man curiously, trying to imagine what his particular interest might be, when I heard a pair of horses approaching. All in the group turned to notice the riders, and I then had the supreme pleasure of being introduced to Mr. Bingley by my cousin Miss Mary. Mr. Bingley, it transpired was the potential betrothed for the eldest Miss Bennet. Another man accompanied him, and whilst I was unacquainted with the gentleman at the time, I later learned he was Mr. Darcy, nephew of my patroness. I would later introduce myself properly to the great man and hope he would not look upon me as lacking in manners for not having made myself known to him sooner.

While I am not the most observant creature, it took no great level of discernment to see a reaction between Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy. My dear Mary suggests that I describe it as Mr. Wickham turning white with fear and Mr. Darcy turning red with anger, but I trust you will be able to understand in your infinite wisdom that while such language, as it is not beneath a man of the cloth, is more descriptive in the literary sense than in the literal sense, as it seems unlikely the actual coloration of either gentleman changed significantly… but be that as it may, even a man such as myself, not particularly gifted in nuance could detect that there appeared to be some monstrous animosity between these two gentlemen. None in the group were to be enlightened though, as Mr. Darcy simply turned his horse and rode away without a word.

For his part, Mr. Bingley seemed to me as if he looked somewhat intently at Miss Bennet, whilst she made a great show of examining her boot, examining the bottom of her dress, examining the state of the lane, examining the state of Miss Mary's boots, Miss Lydia's boots, the officers' boots, the hooves of the horses, or just about anything in the village with the exception of Mr. Bingley. Since I had already settled quite happily on my cousin Miss Mary, I had no particular concerns, but as a cousin, I thought it incumbent upon me to wonder at the peculiar manner of my eldest cousin's near‑betrothal, as it was quite difficult for me to see any signs of affection whatsoever; but as my Mary pointed out, it might be best were I not to worry overly much about things of which I had no understanding; and I had to own as that may very well be considered excellent advice, particularly as I had much more important concerns to avail myself of, including not insubstantially, my renewed conversation with the most interesting woman of my acquaintance, and whom at that time I endeavored to flatter myself might be a lady positively disposed to learned discourse and possibly some arrangement of a longer-lasting nature at some time in the not distant future.

Our discussion continued for some minutes after the horsemen's departure, with Mr. Wickham making himself even more gentlemanly and agreeable to all assembled. The specter of the gentlemen from Netherfield was gradually banished, and even Miss Bennet's countenance seemed to improve after they had departed.

We had all been invited for games and a light supper at my lovely cousins' Aunt Phillips' home, and thence we went straightaway. The officers accompanied us, and when they indicated a polite intention to depart, Mrs. Phillips was quite convincing as to the suitability and desirability of having them stay for the evening, and gradually were they persuaded to acquiesce to her kind invitation, primarily I might add through the kind arguments of my cousin Miss Elizabeth whom as you may know is a mixture of a kitten and a bulldog (thank you Miss Mary for that fine analogy).

Once inside the room, I had the supreme pleasure of Miss Elizabeth asking me to stay close by her for the duration of the evening, and was even more heartily pleased by her insistence that Miss Mary do the same. Among Miss Elizabeth's fine qualities, I believed at the time that subtlety might be lacking, but I was to learn the folly of my ways.

Miss Elizabeth quickly captured the attention of Mr. Wickham, and thence after some time started talking of Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham asserted at some great length of his long association with said gentleman, and even went so far as to delineate a longstanding dispute with the gentleman over his father's will. Far be it from me to disparage the nephew of my patroness, but I did know that not _all_ persons of such elevated birth were perfect, and Mr. Wickham had truth in his eyes, his countenance and his voice and I could not doubt the veracity of his words, nor could Miss Mary. Miss Elizabeth, who at that time did not appear to be overly enamored of Mr. Darcy gasped in surprise, and proceed, through the use of astute questions to ascertain the exact nature of the living that was denied, Mr. Wickham's opinion of the details of the will that allowed the son to disregard the wishes of the father, and even some substantial details of the denied living, including the location of the village, the relative size and location of the parsonage, and even the lost income. She was a most careful and diligent conversationalist, and the entire story was pulled from the gentleman forthwith.

At the close of this telling, Miss Elizabeth was so overcome with the tragedy of the story, that she felt required to reduce the melancholy feelings thus engendered by asking her sister Miss Bennet to come hither and hear the principle of the same story again. I was at that time beginning to worry about the sagacity of my fair cousin. She was widely reported as the cleverest of the Bennet sisters, and in fact cleverer than any man she had known, so I was quite surprised when she found she needed to apply to Mr. Wickham once again regarding the value of the living, the location of the parsonage, and several other crucial details. I could only imagine she wanted the entire story whole and complete in her mind, that she might in some way endeavor to assist the clearly set upon man.

Such was her diligence to this task, she even ascertained to ask Miss Mary to join her and hear the most important aspects of the tale once again. In common with my humble self, Miss Mary is so self-effacing and modest that I do not believe Mr. Wickham had noticed either of us for the entire course of the evening, and he was quite unaware of our combined presence earlier in the narrative. I began to truly appreciate my Mary when she began to endeavor to ascertain Mr. Wickham's opinion on certain doctrinal matters. I began to have a bit of concern about the man's qualifications for studying to take orders, as we found him quite unable to answer some theological questions that were so basic any child of a half-dozen summers should be able to answer them easily… and yet, Mr. Wickham was unable to answer clearly or succinctly, and in fact, he could not even answer them consistently.

This went on for a bit more time, and ultimately miss Lydia was applied to hear the story yet again. Being a thoroughly amiable and respectable young lady, despite her young age she was quite distraught with the story. So incensed was she, that the lady absolutely required every detail of the story and asked Mr. Wickham many questions, with her ire and her sympathy rising with every question and answer, as could clearly be seen in her countenance by the most casual observer.

At long last, it came time for the officers to return to their billet, and I was left to await the Bennet coach. As I began to ask Mrs. Phillips to call the coach, Miss Elizabeth said something we all had been half-thinking, but she had the full picture.

 _" That man is evil."_

Everyone gasped at the starkness of the assertion for someone we had known a few hours only, then asked her to continue.

"He went out of his way to tell the private business between himself and Mr. Darcy on a _first meeting_. That was a frightening breech of basic good manners which made me instantly suspicious. Then everything from the date of the supposed denial to the location and size of the parsonage to the value of the living changed with every telling. He could not manage to answer the simplest doctrinal question that any child should know. It was all lies, start to finish."

We all started murmuring assent, and then the volume of the agreement increased as others saw what Miss Elizabeth had seen and added their pieces.

Miss Elizabeth asked, "Lydia, are you wearing your er… red dress?"

"Yes, Lizzy."

I was a bit surprised to see some consternation in the face of the younger Miss Lydia, which was something I had never seen."

"How did you feel when he looked at you?"

Miss Lydia ducked her head in embarrassment and replied, "Like I needed to go out in the street and roll in the mud to get clean. The man was positively undressing me with his eyes."

"As I thought."

Miss Bennet, who had not had the unpleasant sensation, said, "It is so hard to believe. There was truth in his face and all his expressions. The story was very specific, including every particular. I do not believe I would have detected the lie. How did you do it Lizzy?"

" _I cannot see the truth in his expression._ All I had was his words and tone of voice. I believe he is a _very_ practiced liar, and uses his handsome mien and thoroughly practiced manners to great advantage. He has learned through long practice to project truth in his countenance."

All around the room started nodding assent, but by longstanding habit, they voiced the same agreement for Miss Elizabeth's sake.

" _We will stop him!_ "

Those words stopped us all cold. Nobody had the slightest idea how to do it, but who among us would admit to being intimidated by a task that our blind cousin was willing to undertake, so very quickly, we had to agree with Miss Elizabeth.

I suggested, "Mr. Darcy seems to know him. Let us apply to him."

 **"No, we shall not!"**

Such a strong statement from Miss Elizabeth was so rare we all stood in shock. Miss Elizabeth _never_ raised her voice. My cousin collected herself and said, "Mr. Darcy knows the man. I would swear he knows everything about him; and yet, he declined to act. He left the viper among the lambs. He had his chance."

None of us understood why that was so, but it was clear that if the gentleman from Derbyshire had taken any action, it was too subtle to be detected.

Miss Elizabeth continued, like a general massing her troops.

"Charlotte… Sisters… Aunt… Mr. Collins… In the morning, we need to split up and talk to every merchant in town. Let us find out if he has run up debts. A man like that could hardly resist. Let us see how much we have to work with. We need £20 to put him in debtor's prison, so we will need at least £30 to insure he goes. Let us see how close we come to the mark. We can pool our pin money to buy the vowels, and then it will be in our hands."

I timidly asked, "If you will not have Mr. Darcy, why not invoke your father Miss Elizabeth, or Sir William?"

She looked quite determined and said, " _He targeted me, Mr. Collins! He targeted me_… _Specifically! _He saw a weak, blind girl and set about seducing me within a minute of meeting me. He will be seducing every weak or thoughtless girl he finds, and I am quite certain I am not the first. We must quietly warn the fathers of the village to be on guard. I truly believe bad things will happen around this man. He is to learn he targeted the wrong woman. I shall not sit by meekly and leave it to the men to deal with the miscreant. They had their chance."

Miss Elizabeth thought a bit more, and said, "Mr. Collins, might you write to your Lady Catherine and see if she has any good advice. She may know of the man and may be able to find some debts he has run up in other counties, but please do it quickly. With a man like that, there is not a moment to lose."

I agreed that such sage advice would be followed with alacrity, and set off to pen the missive straightaway while two of the sisters went in search of an express rider. I was not comfortable with omitting her father from the operation, as that seemed improper, but eventually decided I would follow my cousins' council, and even if that turned out to be improper, I would have guidance from my patroness soon enough.

The very next morning, we all descended on the village, talking to every shopkeeper. Miss Elizabeth talked to those that might be harder to convince, recalcitrant or stubborn; and the rest of us went to those they knew best. I naturally accompanied Miss Mary, much to our mutual delight and it was a pleasure seeing her work with an important task assigned to her, outside of her sisters' shadow but part of a greater good.

I must confess something here and now. I do not have the strength of character that my cousins possess in abundance, and such was my nervousness with the endeavor that I entirely inappropriately asked for Miss Mary's hand in between two shops right in the middle of the street. While I was wallowing in mortification about the brevity of the proposal, the lack of heartfelt words, the inappropriate location, the bad timing and… my list of the things I had done wrong was growing longer and longer by the moment, but she simply put her hand on my arm, and said, "Of course, Silly!" Then she attached herself more firmly to my arm, I stood up taller and straighter I liked to think, and we returned to Mrs. Phillips house to give her our vowels for the day, and then immediately left for Longbourn to obtain permission from her father, which was given with alacrity.

It only took two days to accumulate £18 worth of debts. Miss Elizabeth needed £20, and judged we should get up to at least £30 to insure he could not just pay his way out. On a hunch from my Mary, Miss Lydia, bold as brass asked Lt. Sanderson about debts of honor, and there we came to a whole new story. He had at least £30 right there, and we believed our plan was ready to be successful.

We were sitting calmly in the parlor planning to engage Sir William at the nearest possible opportunity, when we heard a carriage in the driveway, and I was most gratified… most gratified indeed to see my esteemed patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh alight from the coach and enter the parlor like the queen. She stared at Miss Elizabeth and said, "You are Elizabeth Bennet?"

"I am, your ladyship."

"Come, sit with me. We have much to discuss."

Then the great lady, showing all the sense and decorum, she is most celebrated for, took Miss Elizabeth by the arm, moved her to a sofa where they would have ample room to converse quietly, giving her what were very polite although probably entirely superfluous directions all the while. Miss Elizabeth clearly appreciated the courtesy of Lady Catherine leading her around her own parlor, and the discussion began in earnest. Nobody in the room was excluded, but Miss Elizabeth received Lady Catherine's special attention, as I had been quite clear in my missive to identify the ringleader of our little band.

After Lady Catherine's appearance, the rest was entirely anticlimactic. Sir William was presented with the purchased vowels, both debts of tradesmen and debts of honor; Mr. Wickham could not pay them, and he was stripped of his uniform, shackled to a cart, and the next day we had the pleasure along with the rest of the residents of Meryton in seeing him taken off to meet his fate. It would be some time before we all learned through Lady Catherine that His Majesty's army routinely removed soldiers on their way to debtor's prison to a high-risk regiment and sent them to the continent to be tamed or killed. The Prince Regent in his infinite wisdom considered that instead of paying the cost of one unknown farm boy to be killed fighting Napoleon, and the cost of maintaining one reprobate in debtors' prison; he could economize by swapping the latter for the former. Thus it was, that several years later we learned that Mr. George Wickham ended his career face down in the mud in Portugal with a bullet in his back, running away from his first battle; and one more conscript had a chance to live a good life.

The week before the ball at Netherfield, oddly enough saw Lady Catherine settled in a guest room in Longbourn, as if she had lived there all her life. She engaged everyone in the house, offering sage advice to all and sundry; but mostly she spent her time conversing with Miss Elizabeth, whom she found uncommonly sensible and very much to her liking. She of course talked to my Mary and found much to approve of there as well, and our nuptials were scheduled for six weeks hence, much to the delight of Mrs. Bennet. Lady Catherine declined Mr. Bingley's kind invitation to the ball, and indicated she wished to return to her daughter Anne a day or so beforehand.

Mr. Bennet planned to announce my betrothal to Miss Mary at the upcoming ball at Netherfield, and all were looking forward to the excitement… with the odd and unexplainable exception of the two eldest Bennet sisters who looked more troubled than anything.

* * *

 _A/N: I assume you're on to me now. Each chapter is a different writing style. None of them except the hated Emoji style (that I'll go back and change) are styles I've used before, but each one different from the last. We've done Emlji, Omniscient and First Person (possibly the first FPPOV Collins Ever). There's one more new style in chapter 4 and then I have to start recycling._

 _We're about 1/3 of the way through the story. I have rough drafts through chapter 5. At 30k words, what I have is novella length but it will probably just barely crack the 40k that says it's a novel, but I'll still think of it as a novella._

 _I am quite busy with RL these days so probably won't match my usual relentless pace, but do expect a couple of chapters a week._

 _Wade_


	4. Write No Evil

27 November 1810

My Dearest Lizzy,

I hope this finds you well, and that you are sufficiently settled, although I miss you dearly. I understand why you felt that taking this position was the right thing to do. I must say though, that the timing does seem to be a bit precipitous, and I would hope you are not simply running away from your fears. However, we have already discussed that issue to death and I shall not presume to censure you again. You must make your own decisions and I can see that you are quite firm in this one.

As you requested, I did attend the ball at Netherfield last night. I was as you well know, quite loathe to do so. Nothing short of your insistence would have been sufficient to entice me there; and I must confess I very nearly turned around the moment I arrived. Mother was naturally in her usual state of overly heightened exuberance, and that was the final deciding factor. I thought a few hours of discomfort were probably better than the months of censure I would have to endure should I refuse the ball. In the end, I think I would have preferred the few months, because being completely unaware of what transpired, Mama kept pushing me towards Mr. Bingley all night, until I finally feigned injury and declined dancing the rest of the evening. Papa and I are naturally reluctant to share the story of what _really_ happened with the most prolific gossip in Meryton.

Papa, as you know received Misters Bingley and Darcy the day after that terrible night we spent at Netherfield, and while he did not explicitly tell me I must go to the ball, he did mention once or twice that I was not to make myself fearful for no reason. I know he tried to work on you with the same argument without success, and I do so hope you will not allow one night to take away your joy in life. You were quite altered when you left, and I so hope you will find happiness there, or that you come back and as Mary is fond of saying, 'allow the balm of sisterly affection to heal you', or something like that. After all that prevarication, allow me to tell you what happened at the ball.

The first thing of note was the absence of those horrid Bingley sisters. The hostess was an older lady, somewhat close to Mama's age who was introduced as Mr. Bingley's aunt, Mrs. Helen Wibercomb. She is to remain as his hostess until Mr. Bingley tires of the neighborhood and leaves, which I hope shall be soon.

Mr. Bingley requested and was granted a few moments conversation, with Papa in the room. He was most profusely apologetic, practically throwing himself at my feet with his remorse, which I honestly found distasteful. The time to be a proper gentleman and head of his family was months or years ago, not last night. Mr. Bingley indicated that he had chastised his sister severely, and then cut ties with her, giving her control of her dowry and setting her up in her own establishment… as if that was punishment for such a wicked woman. He looked at me like a groveling puppy, I assume hoping that would be enough to erase the horrid things his sister said about my sister; but as you expected, I simply thanked him for the information and excused myself.

Mr. Darcy talked to Papa for quite some time, and I surmised he was trying to work out a way to apologize to you as well, but it is entirely possible they were talking about something different just to pass the time. Papa did not seem to be toying with him as usual, but talked quite earnestly for at least a half-hour. Papa did shake his head several times, but I have no idea why. From Mr. Darcy's look, I assume he was trying to make amends, but Papa was not making it easy for him. The man looks positively affected, even more so than Mr. Bingley, but I will not presume to understand what bothered him so. It cannot possibly be the first time he was exposed to the superior sisters, and yet he did nothing before so I have no idea why this incident should be any worse than any other. You cannot possibly be the first lady to be disparaged by Miss Bingley in his presence, but perhaps he was never caught red handed before so he is embarrassed, or perhaps this specific incident was worse than usual since the victim would have so much more trouble defending herself. I have no idea, nor any particular desire to learn. He will return to his own sphere soon enough, and I doubt that I shall ever think of him again

Mr. Darcy did ask me to dance a set. I presumed correctly that he was trying to find out something about you, but I was no more obliging than Papa was, so he yet remains in ignorance. In the end, if the two 'gentlemen' did not know of the Bennet sisters' disapprobation, they might have to be the two densest men in England, because I would have had to beat their heads with a stick to be any more blatant.

Mama was not quite in her full form, and Lydia and Kitty were even well behaved, so the rest of the evening was uneventful.

Mr. Darcy did ask about Mr. Wickham, and said the oddest thing. He congratulated you on your success, and said that was yet another thing to add to his account. I have no idea what that meant. Perhaps he correctly thought he should have been the one to bring the man to heel, and if that is the case, he can have one more thing to worry over. It is of no concern to us.

So Lizzy, enough of those two. Let us put them entirely behind us, although that is probably being overly optimistic. For my part, I imagine I will see them from time to time, but in a fit of pique, I did break propriety a bit by asking both gentlemen specifically to refrain from asking for my hand in any more dances. You are not the only sister who can be stubborn. I believe both will be gone before the new year, and I shall not repine their loss. Until then, I will simply ignore them if we happen to be in company.

You are thankfully free of both at least for the moment, but we know that cannot last forever. At the very least, Mr. Darcy visits his aunt every year at Easter, so you have but a few month's reprieve. It also seems unlikely he will remain ignorant of your location even that long. I doubt he will hunt you down at Rosings, but he might just happen to be visiting his aunt sooner than later.

Please Lizzy, tell me a little about your new situation. How did you survive the carriage ride? I know you get violently ill in carriages after less than a mile so how did you endure fifty miles? I imagine you did like people on ships, simply enduring it, but I worry for you. I trust Lady Catherine did everything in her power to ease your discomfort, but such things seem beyond even such an estimable lady as her.

Is Miss de Bourgh amiable? Is she truly as ill as we have been told? Do you really think you will be happy there, Lizzy? Have you told Lady Catherine what happened at Netherfield? I can well imagine her taking Mr. Darcy to task over it like a misbehaving schoolboy, and I must say it might not be such a bad thing; although if his look at the ball is any indication, he already feels bad enough.

Write me soon, please dearest.

Jane

* * *

3 December 1810

Miss Jane Bennet

Miss Bennet,

Your sister has requested that I briefly introduce myself. My name is Elbridge Hopkinson, and I shall be acting as scribe for your sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have been in the employ of Lady Catherine de Bourgh for nearly 40 years. I have acted as secretary, scribe, and assistant to her steward among other duties. I have two estimable daughters grown and well married, and six grandchildren. My lovely wife passed some five years ago. Lady Catherine has requested that I provide assistance to your sister in her new duties as companion and friend for Miss de Bourgh, and aside from this missive I will simply faithfully transcribe her words to paper for your benefit, and accurately read whatever you write. Naturally, you may count on my complete discretion. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet.

Yours etc&

Mr. Elbridge Hopkinson

* * *

3 December 1810

My Dearest Jane,

As you have now been introduced to our trusted scribe, I must say that he is a very dear man and I have taken an immediate liking to him. I suspect he is blushing furiously, but I dare say he shall most likely survive the ordeal.

Jane, I know you feel that I am running away for the first time in my life, and I must own that there is probably a certain amount of truth to that. I always thought my courage would rise to every attempt to intimidate me, but I find that I have reached my limits. I have no idea _why_ that specific incident at Netherfield was any worse than any of the other unkind things said about me by other people before that night. I have heard it all before, from people we knew all our lives and considered friends without undue pain. In fact, I have heard worse from my own mother in my own house, but none of those affected me greatly. In the end, perhaps Mr. Darcy and the Bingley sisters were simply the last straw. I should be able to ignore the shrews, but I cannot. I should be able to forgive Mr. Bingley for not reigning them in, but I cannot. Perhaps someday, but not today.

Miss de Bourgh, or Anne as she has asked to be called, is a lovely, albeit very quiet young lady of five and twenty, and I liked her immediately. As Lady Catherine intimated, she has in fact been sick for most of her life, and much of it quite violently ill. She had a companion up until a few months ago. Mrs. Jenkinson was much older, and has decided it is time to retire and live with one of her daughters. Her departure was amicable, and I believe Lady Catherine desires that I be not only a companion, but a friend to her daughter. Anne appears to have never had any other friends anywhere near her own age, and I am happy to take up the office. I have no idea why Lady Catherine chose me over another, but the position she has offered allows me some true independence, as she is remunerating me very generously. In a few years, I will have enough to live somewhat independently, and I am very happy. I have known for some time I would ultimately have to leave my father's house, and this allows me an opportunity that I doubt that I would have had otherwise. I intend to make the most of it.

As per your query, Lady Catherine does know exactly what happened at Netherfield, and true to your surmise it has taken a considerable amount of effort to contain her displeasure with her nephew. I believe her interpretation of events may not precisely match mine. I suspect she thinks this is just what happens when you associate with those in trade, and it took me some time to convince her that I know some in trade who are the very best of people, so her assertion is entirely unfounded. I have very specifically forbidden her from mentioning anything about me to Mr. Darcy, and while she did not go down without a fight, she has acquiesced to my wishes on this matter... for the moment. I always consider any victory over her to be temporary.

It is difficult to ascertain whether Anne would be helped or hurt by an insistence on getting out of the house and moving about more, which would be my first idea as you well know. Is it the case that she does not get out because she is sick, and she gets sicker because she does not get out? Or perhaps, is the opposite true, where getting out would make her even worse, and protection from the elements is paramount. We truly have no idea. I have discussed this at length with her, and we will try to do a little more activity than she is accustomed to and see what happens. Of course, every move must be cleared with her physician, but he is in accordance with the plan.

Rosings is a large and profitable estate I am told, and according to our cousin it must be quite luxurious. It is all wasted on me however, as luxury mostly seems to mean a lot of sharp corners, except for the beds which are exceptionally comfortable. Lady Catherine does like to manage her estate and all associated with a bit of an iron fist, but since she is prosperous and her estate well cared for, I find nothing to criticize. She does have her fits of aggressive behavior, but certainly nothing any worse than we were accustomed to at Longbourn.

So, all in all sister, much against the odds I find myself in quite a good situation. My company is very much to my liking, both Anne and Lady Catherine, and I do believe that Anne and I have a very good chance of becoming quite close, so I am content.

I am looking forward to Mary's company in February, but it is now late and Mr. Hopkinson must be off to his bed, so I shall close now.

Your loving sister,

Lizzy

* * *

15 March 1811

My Dearest Jane,

Well my dear, after three months here I am quite settled and I can give you a complete report on what we have learned about Anne's health. We know absolutely nothing. It has clearly been much too cold for her to spend any significant time out of doors, but with the spring weather coming along we have managed to get out and about to some extent. It is not enough to have satisfied me back when I had my eyesight, but for the moment we have exercise enough. When it is too cold, I have tried getting her to move around Rosings more. She has become quite adept at guiding me with the lightest of touches on my arm, much I imagine as a good horseman would his mount, and it greatly adds to my comfort to be able to walk confidently on her arm. Sometimes the exercise seems to make Anne feel better, and sometimes it makes her feel worse. Her opinion is that the increase in activity is gradually making her better overall, and Mr. Hopkinson is keeping a careful diary along with her maid to try to put a more scientific bent on it, but we just do not know.

The physicians are not very much help at all. Mostly what they tell us amounts to a long-winded bout of circular reasoning. If exercise makes her better than exercise is good. If the converse, then it is bad. Others have suggested things that are obviously stupid, and we have tried to ignore them. Anne was bled quite a lot during her lifetime, and we are all convinced it is pointless at best and harmful at worst, so we have at least stopped that practice. We have also cut down on the draughts she is given, as there seems a good chance half of those might be poisoning her. I have asked more than one apothecary to explain _precisely_ what was in a draught and what it did; and have been mostly unimpressed with the results. Other than that, we are just trying to insure she eats and sleeps well, does not get chilled or overly fatigued and wait to see what happens.

Now on to our BIG EXCITING NEWS. I do hope Mr. Hopkinson managed to convey the absolute giddy schoolgirl excitement of this announcement. We are simultaneously accomplishing so many things I will not be surprised if we are written up in scientific journals.

Firstly, one of the physicians has suggested that sea air is sometimes helpful for lung ailments, and so Lady Catherine has consented to a trip of a month or more to Brighton. As you know I have never been to the sea, and I am looking forward to it with great anticipation. Anne is now five and twenty, and she has control of her own fortune so she can do what she pleases; but mostly she pleases to get along with her mother, and I cannot disagree. Lady Catherine may seem a bit overbearing at times, but she has taken care of her child to the best of her ability for many years, and has had to endure the constant worry of a child constantly ill and sometimes near death, so she is to be allowed a little bit of leeway. Anne has been at Rosings most of her life, and has been mostly content but is becoming restless. The poor woman finds the idea of a London season frightening and unappealing, but the idea of going to a holiday in Brighton very much to her liking. Even if she did wish to go to London, I suspect the bad air would probably kill her, so town is very much out of bounds for the two of us; and I must say I do not repine the loss.

Secondly, through pure luck we happen to be going to Brighton at the exact time that Mr. Darcy is to pay his annual visit to Rosings. I swear to you I had _nothing_ to do with this, although I do not mind missing him in the least. I am aware I should probably allow the man to apologize and just be done with it, but my inclinations do not run in that direction now. I have a hard time believing he still worries about what happened in December anyway, so really, it is all for the best. I am no longer spitting-mad at him, nor even hurt terribly, but it would be both awkward and pointless.

Thirdly, I believe Lady Catherine has finally given up on her long-standing dream of having Mr. Darcy wed Anne. She frankly finds the entire idea of marriage, childbirth and all the other associated risks to be even more terrifying than a season. I doubt in the end Anne would have agreed, even if Lady Catherine had managed to convince Mr. Darcy, which seems extremely unlikely anyway.

So, there you have it sister. Who would have thought – your blind sister, off on a big adventure!

What news from Meryton?

Your loving sister,

Elizabeth

* * *

15 June 1811

My Dearest Jane,

I do so wish you could come visit us at Brighton, but I will take you at your previous word that you have no interest in coming here, even if father would allow it. I must tell you of my journey, as you will find it fascinating.

Once I found the joys of riding outside of the carriage on my journey to Rosings at Lady Catherine's suggestion, or at least the joys of not having my stomach spread all over the interior; our coachman Mr. Stafford did the craziest thing. He took a leather strap from a harness, and attached me securely with a leather belt around my waist to the step at the back of the carriage that normally holds one of the footmen. He said he would find it inconvenient to find one of his passengers dead on the side of the road, and I must agree that policy seems sensible enough. I rode the entire distance that way, and it was absolutely thrilling and wonderful in every way. I could simply let loose of my hands, and stand there in perfect safety as the wind blew through my hair, the carriage gently rocking back and forth (sometimes not so gently – the strap was a very good idea). It was the most diverting thing I have ever done, and I have even a few times asked permission to use the coach just so I could do it again. The coachmen are not so busy, and I believe they get as much of a thrill from my excitement as I do, so everyone is happy with any excuse I can come up with.

The seaside itself is quite enchanting. Anne and I have both tried the infamous "sea bathing" that mama always wanted to try, and I must say it was a great deal of entertainment. Anne and I very much enjoy walking along the beach, where we frequently encounter interesting people or children at play.

I have also started taking a small entertainment that I believe you will approve of. I seem to remember nearly all the words of most of the books I read, so I simply sat down on the beach one day and started reading aloud from my memory. Within half an hour I was surrounded by children, all just itching for the next part of the story. Both Anne and I found it entirely suitable entertainment, and the children were vastly pleased as well. We have now made a custom of doing this every Sunday afternoon, and also a few times during the week. It seems to be the one time when everyone around me can forget that I am blind, and I am indebted to Anne for giving me this opportunity.

We have even made a few forays into the local society. Without Lady Catherine along, we have found that Anne can worm her way in quite easily and unobtrusively, so long as we do not take on any particular airs. The Prince Regent comes to this area frequently, so we are just two more innocuous gentlewomen, enjoying our time and not making a terribly big impression on the town.

Anne has even been known to engage in a few dances. For obvious reasons, I have not managed to do the same, but I still find the conversation, the music and the entertainment at the local assemblies to be quite interesting and we never miss one. We do have to be more careful here then we would at home, because the town is notorious for rakes, gamblers and other assorted vermin. Anne and I are both accompanied by at least one and usually two stout footmen always. The two that lady Catherine sent along primarily for our protection are both well read and clever, and excellent company. We would never let Lady Catherine catch us in serious conversation with a footman, but she is not here, is she. One of them even takes an occasional turn at reading to me, which I very much appreciate.

Tomorrow we are to take a small ship that will go out to sea for an hour or so and then circle back. It is to be a pleasure trip, organized by a local matron who has taken us under her wing. I have never been on a ship, so I am hoping that my stomach does not disappoint me.

Wish me luck,

Lizzy

* * *

1 August 1811

My Dearest Jane,

I can tell you for an absolute fact that the age old philosophers' debate about whether heaven actually exists or not has been entirely resolved. It does exist, and it can be found around twenty feet above the deck of a ship. It's called a 'Crow's Nest', and it is in fact heaven on earth. It is something like half a barrel attached to the top of a mast, and I cannot begins to describe how much I enjoy it. It makes the coach ride seem tepid by comparison. It has a bit of an odd motion that makes sighted people nauseous, so most sailors consider duty there a punishment, but I cannot get enough.

Naturally, you may wonder how a blind woman managed to get to a crow's nest. Well I will enlighten you… well, on second thought, I will not. Suffice it to say that the elements of this escapade involve a ship's captain who is even closer to the edge of insanity than is usually the case, a most unladylike wager between various parties, of which Anne was one, a pair of sailors' trousers and… well, that is probably enough. I spent hours up there and believe I will never be happy again if I cannot repeat the experience.

Now, my dear sister. On to more important things.

I really must insist you tell me about these new gentlemen who showed up mysteriously at Purvis lodge. I realize, based on your letter, that they are not of very much interest to you as suitors, but having someone new in the neighborhood must be quite a thrill. I can imagine Lydia and kitty in all of their raptures over a couple of new handsome men, even if they are deficient in red coats, and Mama must be in full fettle I would imagine. I shall expect more details about these thoroughly uninteresting gentlemen in your next letter.

As you know by now based on my last letter, Anne and I were both thoroughly entranced by the sea, so naturally we have decided to take a _real_ voyage. We have now been on short pleasure trips three times, and cannot get enough of it. Deciding on an even bigger adventure, we are to depart for Ireland in a few days. As previously reported, Anne gets better and worse over time, but seems to be gradually more better than worse here in the sea air, so she is disinclined to get herself very far from the ocean. Her mother agrees with anything that makes her either healthier or happier. Lady Catherine visited us for a few weeks, but apparently does not wish to intrude on our holiday, and does not particularly like the seaside anyway; and she asserts she will ride tied to the bottom of her carriage with ropes before she sets foot on a ship.

We both are in love with shipboard travel, so once we have gone to Ireland, we may elect to take a little more time on board ship. With the war raging, the continent is obviously out of bounds, but Britain is after all a collection of islands, so we should be able to find things of interest around the coast. There are many things to see in Ireland, Scotland and Wales all readily accessible by ship. I am finding that it is quite convenient to have a nearly unlimited source of money. All of those traveling with us are unmarried and unattached for the moment, and frankly everyone in our little band seems to be enjoying the travels as much as we do. The duty is actually quite light, and interesting. I have no idea how long we will be away. Lady Catherine is even being quite reasonable about the whole thing, which was at first surprising but not when you really think about the mother's desire for her child to be happy. Anne has had so little true happiness in her life, and I am proud to be able to help her find a bit of it.

I have had a letter from Mary, much to my delight. As you well know by now, she is destined to be the first to present a Bennet grandchild. I am quite looking forward to hearing about it.

I hope this letter finds you well, and naturally I hope it also finds you in route to Hunsford, where you obviously belong right now. I will quite depend on you for a full report of Mary's condition, as you know she takes her correspondence duties as seriously as Papa does, and I would like to have some news of the coming babe sometime before their wedding day.

I will write you from Ireland, but have no idea how well the post works from there. Considering how much Anne and I are moving around, I shall be quite surprised if your next letter catches up to me before the end of the year.

You're faithful traveler,

Lizzy

* * *

7 December 1811

My Dearest Jane,

My previous reports on the health of my companion Anne may have been lacking in sufficient detail. I did mention that her overall health, and her breathing, was steadily improving under the influence of the sea air. However, I feel remiss that I did not mention that her sanity was somewhat under question.

As you well know, we were scheduled to take a small trip to Ireland. The process was simple enough… get on a ship, go to Ireland, spend a fortnight or two and return. However, some type of mishap at the ticketing office left us firmly ensconced on the entirely wrong ship, one day after ours had already left port.

Anne simply looked around the cabin and said, "Probably for the best." Now I must report to you that she was entirely correct. It was in fact for the best. We are both most assuredly happy, diverted and content here in Philadelphia. Lady Catherine may be less sanguine about this minor alteration to our travel plans, but I imagine she will survive it.

The trip took seven weeks which I understand is typical. We sailed with Captain Jamison, who we are both most enamored with. It was long enough for me to become thoroughly familiar with most of the deck of the ship, and the Captain even indulged my love foe the crow's next anytime I liked. The sailors are all coarse and vulgar men, so naturally Anne and I love the, to death. They all very much love a good story so I was engaged in 'reading' to them every evening just after sunset.

The sea has a life and a rhythm to it that calls to me. I can quite imagine if I had been a sighted boy I might have gone to see in my youth and never left. One of the mates, Mr. Johnson started in this particular shop under Captain Jamison nearly a decade ago as a twelve-year-old Ship's Boy. He has spent his life in this ship, sending most of his pay home to his mother and sisters. He has managed to acquire some education along the way, and is surprisingly well read. The Captain enjoys his books, and is constantly trading books along with his cargo, which has given both him and a few of his men surprisingly robust educations. Of course, they are trading in odd port towns, so the collection of things they hav studied is quite eclectic and somewhat random. They listen to my stories in rapt attention. Like the rest of the men, and I must say I like everyone on the ship immensely.

We arrived in Philadelphia just two days ago, and already we feel as if we are firmly planted here for the foreseeable future; but of course, the foreseeable future for the two of us usually amounts to around a fortnight. This place is much like going to a foreign country, except they speak English; more or less. People here do not seem to revere rank, titles or ancient heritage like they do at home, but they certainly revere _money_! Of course, a country this young would think a century to be an ancient lineage anyway. Being in possession of both long lineage _and_ money, plus a certain amount of panache for being a foreigner, but not 'too foreign', the men here are fascinated with Anne… or at least the fortune hunters are. Of course, a woman who wanders around with a blind companion is certain to attract attention as well, so we are quite the local notables.

I must close now as we have been invited to some type of entertainment. Right around now, I imagine you must be in Hunsford, so please give my best to Mary, and to the little one, when he should appear.

Your American sister,

Elizabeth

* * *

2 February 1812

My Dearest Lizzy,

I finally received what I believe must be all your letters that have been accumulating, misdirected or otherwise delayed. I am quite well-settled here in the parsonage for the immediate future. If I were more disciplined woman, I would make you wait until the end of the letter to introduce you to little Abigail Collins, but I do not have the heart.

You will be happy to know that Little Abbie is absolutely the loveliest, as well as quite possibly the noisiest baby that ever lived. Mary and I love her dearly, and I shall not even attempt to describe the effusions of her father which are all you would expect, and frankly everything wonderful. Even though she is a very noisy baby, she can be quieted down by hearing her father's words. She will start screaming again when he stops, so he simply rehearses his sermons over and over when she is being noisy, and all is well. I believe I even detect an improvement in the delivery on Sundays, so perhaps the little tyke is doing us all a great favor.

This precious child was born with quite a head of hair, almost the same color as yours; light blue eyes that to my mind speak a bit of mischief; and the aforementioned healthy set of lungs. She is otherwise of average size, and in every way delightful… when she is quiet… well, actually she is always delightful but sometimes more so than others. She is resting just now, so I will do my best to scratch out a letter, and I may perhaps have one worthy of being read in a week or two.

Lady Catherine visits us at the parsonage nearly every day, and Abbie dotes on her. We have compared notes on your various travels and it is always a lively topic of discussion. The lady always shares letters from you and Anne when she has any, and of course we return the favor. I have a hard time working out whether she is angry at Anne for leaving or proud of her for such a big adventure; although I am certain it is possible to be both at the same time. She also worries, but that is to be expected. She is, I must say quite unambiguously proud of _you_ , and what you have done for her Anne. She feels like Anne was just _existing_ before, and now she is _living_ and it is all because of you. When her ladyship is in a boasting mood, there is no stopping her, and I can assure you that no subject gives her more pleasure than you and Anne.

Expanding on the subject of mutual acquaintances, Mr. Bingley has turned out to be surprisingly resilient. He finally purchased Netherfield several months ago, and by all accounts is making a good effort of being a diligent estate master. Mr. Darcy has continued instructing him, and the man seems to be taking his responsibility seriously. He is taking care of tenants, has had a number of discussions with father about bordering fields, and seems to be finally achieving what he said out to do. Papa speaks of him with some respect now.

With respect to his sisters, they have never been seen in the county again, and I have been told they are not welcome. You know how unreliable rumors are, but it has been bandied about that Mr. Darcy gave Miss Bingley the cut direct in a London ballroom, and her social standing has taken an enormous hit. If that is the case, I would have to say bravo to Mr. Darcy.

Before I left for Hunsford, I actually ran into Mr. Bingley socially from time to time. The sharp edge of my animosity seems to have been ground down by your near constant reminders to let the past go, and I have managed to engage him in a civil conversation on some occasions. We have worked our way back to indifferent acquaintances, which is about the position I believe we will remain. I expect to be here with Mary for some time, so in the end it is of very little importance. I must say in the spirit of generosity that whoever ends up married to that gentleman will find a more resilient husband then what came before, so perhaps some good will come of that debacle. I hate to say it, but I believe your acquaintance with Anne can also be counted as a good outcome, so who knows – maybe we should be thanking the superior sisters for the efficacy of their machinations.

In all seriousness Lizzy, there is no doubt whatsoever that your presence has been a boon to Anne, and I believe in the end you will count her friendship as a boon to you as well. I am quite envious of your adventure, in the abstract sort of way in which one is envious of someone else for doing something they would not particularly wish to do. In common with Lady Catherine, I am quite proud of you Lizzy, but in no hurry to exchange places.

I am curious whether the two of you plan to conquer only the Eastern Seaboard of the Americas, or do you plan to subdue the rest of the continent while you are at it. Philadelphia, Boston, New York, Virginia – what is next, San Francisco? Forget I said that, I do not want to be putting crazy ideas in your head.

Your descriptions of the Americans I find to be quite hilarious, and, Mr. Hopkinson's narratives you have commissioned are wonderful. I must forewarn you that I am quite as in love with Mr. Hopkinson as you are, and should you ever make it back to English soil I will do my best to charm the poor man away from you. We never had a proper grandfather, and I am not to be denied my due out of sisterly affection.

Speaking of English soil, are you ever coming back Lizzy? I would not dare to criticize you, nor would I dare to look at your big adventure with anything short of envy and pride; but I do miss my sister. It has been a year and three months since I have seen you.

Your frazzled sister,

Jane

* * *

1 July 1812

Dearest Mother,

I hope you are doing well. I am in receipt of both your report of February and one from Miss Bennet detailing the latest addition to your society, and I must say I highly approve of little Miss Abbie. I understand you to be a frequent visitor to the parsonage and the Collins family seems to frequently return the favor, so I could not be happier. I was afraid it might be lonely there in Rosings, but it sounds like you have things well in hand.

Lizzy and I are quite happy in our little adventure, and the only thing we are lacking is your company to make our enjoyment complete. I know it must be difficult for you to have gone without me all this time, and I do feel a bit of guilt from time to time; but we have been having the adventure of a lifetime and I cannot imagine spending the last year in any other way.

I must thank you again and again for your foresight in selecting Lizzy as my companion. As I strongly suspect you planned right from the start, she has become ever so much more than companion. She has become friend, sister and confidant all rolled into one as I firmly believe I love her as much as I could any sister, and I am certain she feels the same. It has been a wonderful match in all ways.

I have no idea if you will be appalled or proud, but either way I must tell you of our latest endeavor. We have just completed setting up our fifth school for poor children, and we are both so proud and happy with all we have done. Let me explain how it all started.

I never quite realized just how constrained blindness could be. Lizzy was a great reader until she lost her sight, and she lost her greatest source of entertainment and knowledge, as well as the one thing that most connected her with her beloved father. Perhaps her father is on the indolent side, and I fear for her sisters on his demise, but he has been a good companion and educator for Lizzy. She lost that, but she also lost the ability to do all the other things gently bred ladies do to pass the time. She can no longer traipse around her father's estate for miles at a time, she cannot embroider or sew, she cannot paint or draw. She can do just about nothing other than interact with other human beings, and even that in a limited capacity.

She has on the other hand become _very_ good about ferreting out the basic goodness and reliability of people, and she can practically smell dishonesty. I have come to believe that practiced liars like Mr. Wickham are overly reliant on a look of goodness, honesty and integrity; but those have no effect on Lizzy. She hears their tone of voice, and adds up what they say in logical terms to it, and she has honed a way to tell the good from the bad. It is more useful than you might imagine, and I believe in a trade she might be able to do quite well. Imagine how well a businessman could do if he had a better idea of the truth or falseness of a business proposition than he could obtain himself. I can well imagine you might even find it useful.

For our case, she is not made for idleness so as soon as we arrived in Brighton, she almost accidentally stumbled on our favorite pastime. She has a prodigious memory, and can remember most of the books she read before she lost her sight. She can also remember a book if Mr. Hopkinson or one of the footmen reads it to her. I have tried to read to her as well, but the effort is too taxing to keep it up for a long time, but Hopkinson thinks nothing of reading for many hours at a time. He is really the dearest man, as you well know.

So Lizzy one day was sitting with me in a local park in the middle of the city one Sunday afternoon when I was feeling poorly, and she offered to 'read' to me. Since she thought I was melancholy, she read the comedy _Much Ado About Nothing_. As she read to me in her clear and enticing voice, we found that we had an audience of children. We were in a not particularly prosperous part of the city because I wanted to see what it was like. Do not worry, we were surrounded by our retainers and were perfectly safe. By the end of the recitation we had a good two dozen listeners hanging off each word in rapt attention.

We tried the same thing again, and again and always had the same result. Then Lizzy picked out one of the poor children who has not been sent to work yet, but is likely to soon. She asked her if she would like to learn some letters, and much to her delight, between Lizzy and Mr. Hopkinson she soon had a small gaggle of children learning to read. We continued this exercise for some weeks, and eventually decided to hire a small schoolhouse to teach them in, and then we decided to add a few more students, then we naturally needed to hire a real teacher. To make a long story short, Lizzy wanted to use her stipend to fund the school after we were gone, and I naturally took care of that from my own allowance, which we barely touch with our simple way of living.

We hired a man who Lizzy believes is honest as our man of business to oversee the affair, and a schoolmarm to do the instruction, and another man to take care of the building, and left a fully working school with sufficient funds to operate for several years… five at the least.

I must tell you Mother, that I felt so insufferably proud of the pair of us that we did the same thing again in Boston, and again and again. We have done our best to insure they can survive after we leave, at least for a few years. Neither of us believe we materially changed the world. The poor are like the tides, always more coming and going and we can no more affect the ebb and flow than we can for the sea we both love so much; but for a few boys and girls, we _might_ allow a child to go to a maid's position instead of a workhouse; or perhaps become an upstairs maid or shop clerk or shopkeeper's wife instead of a scullery. Our ambitions are small, but we are confident that we will achieve them in some measure, so we are content.

So Mother, who would have thought the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh would be so insufferably proud of herself over such a small thing; but I am, and I have you to thank for giving me the fortune and the freedom to do my little bit for the world. I am quite certain Lizzy feels the same.

Now that I am finished with my shameless bragging, I feel it is time to move onto another topic before I become as intolerable as one of my cousins or a strutting rooster (which are indistinguishable as far as I can tell).

The first news is that Lizzy and I feel it is time to come home, and we will set sail in a fortnight. Things have been touchy between America and England for the past four years, but nobody seems to have held it against what they think of as two more or less orphaned English girls. Now that congress declared war a fortnight ago, much to everyone's shock and surprise, we are convinced we must leave. In truth, we were about ready to leave anyway as my health is not as good as it should be. Dr. Jones seems to have been correct, and I am looking forward to being home and in your company once again.

As you know, we have only ever really sailed with Captain Jamison. We have done a half-dozen voyages with him and his crew. Lizzy knows every inch of his ship, every member of the crew by name, and she loves the crow's nest above all places in the world. The captain is much like a fussy grandmother, and has written to us twice urging us to go home. He is to call for us in a few weeks. He has cargo to deliver on the way, so he has several stops to make and we shall be able to see some of the islands on the trip The journey eastbound is much faster than the route when we came here because the winds predominantly go that direction, so we shall have around a month of sailing plus stops at two or three ports for business, so we should be home sometime in September, and I am looking forward to it.

Your beloved daughter,

Anne


	5. Accept No Evil

_A/N: Thanks for the enormous response everyone. Except for what is most commonly known as the 'Emoji Debacle', everyone seems to like the shifting storytelling style (and a few brave souls even liked Chapter 1). This style does tend to make for much longer chapters than usual, probably because each chapter is what us software geeks call a 'context switch'. I apologize that I haven't been answering very many of the reviews personally, but I do read and thoroughly appreciate every one._

 _This chapter is a monster FPPOV of 10k words with some big surprises._

 _Wade_

* * *

I can say one thing for certain. My niece Abbie is the most delightful child ever born. I know most mothers and aunts say that, but in my case, I have the supreme pleasure of being right while the others are wrong. I know it is impolitic to claim so publicly, so I shall smile serenely and simply hum it under my breath. I know the truth, and shall not be dissuaded.

Little Abbie is also quite useful as well. If I do not want to go somewhere, I can always just give her a pinch or two on the bottom, and volunteer to stay with her. Mary could obviously hire a nursemaid, and no doubt will get around to it sooner or later, but for the moment she finds her sister quite convenient and I am happy with the scheme. Little Abbie is also sanguine with the overall situation, although I am not so certain she approves of the pinching.

This system was quite useful in keeping me away from church on the day that otherwise would have been my first sighting of Mr. Darcy, but I was under no illusions that it would last forever. Lizzy has been suggesting to me in her letters for months to let bygones be bygones, and I _have_ for the most part. After well over a year, I hardly ever think about the Netherfield party at all… well, not very much at least.

In moving to Hunsford I had exchanged my mother's company for my cousin Collins', which under normal conditions would be about an even trade. However, I also had Mary, Abbie and Lady Catherine on the positive side of the ledger, so I was quite happily fixed in the parsonage and in no hurry to leave. Except for my father's occasional whingeing about lack of sense in the house (to which I naturally suggest he educate his _other_ daughters), I planned to stay as long as I was welcome. I suspected that when I finally decided to enter the marriage mart again, Lady Catherine would quite happily set me to rights, so I was in no way concerned. Should the worst happen, all that would change is we would all move to Longbourn and otherwise carry on as before.

My reprieve from Mr. Darcy was short, as we were to attend supper at Rosings. I had chosen the parlor at Rosings as our battleground as it were, because I was quite comfortable there… probably more so than that gentleman was. Mr. Darcy was to attend for a fortnight to give Lady Catherine some completely unnecessary assistance with the estate, mostly to keep his uncle happy. I wondered if Mr. Darcy would be more comfortable with his aunt with Anne gone. I had not joined Mary the previous year, so had no way to really know how he had been before. He usually came at Easter but had been unable to do so that year, so he was spending early August in Kent.

When the time came, we reluctantly left Abbie in the care of a maid and repaired to Rosings. Taking her with us was common enough, but for this occasion we were to mind the protocols. Mr. Darcy had been at Rosings for a few days by then, and I believe he would have called on us at the parsonage if he was certain of his welcome. I had even at this late date not told Mary exactly what happened at Netherfield, but I suspected she had mostly figured it out on her own anyway.

We met in the parlor at Rosings, and I managed to give a credible curtsey and even a small smile. Mr. Darcy looked somewhat different than he had in Hertfordshire, but I could not put my finger on all that was changed. He was as always impeccably turned out, but he had lost a bit of the smooth sort of prideful look he had then. He seemed to have lost some weight. It was not an alarming amount, but his clothing did not have quite the snug fit I was accustomed to. His manners were smooth and practiced, and he just seemed more… I could not say, but perhaps a combination of nervous and amiable. I began to suspect that night in Netherfield might have had a bigger effect than I had supposed, and that naturally led me to thoughts of the _other_ resident that I studiously did _not_ think of. Mr. Darcy's greeting was all that was right and proper.

"Miss Bennet. It is quite a pleasure to see you once again. I hope you have been well."

"Mr. Darcy"

So far, his manners were better than mine. I wondered if we would just ignore what happened at Netherfield, which seemed like it might be for the best, or if he would ask to discuss it. Neither event was likely to happen in Rosings, so it was a problem for another day.

"May I present my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard, Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire."

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet."

I knew from my cousin's intelligence that the Colonel was the son of the Earl of Matlock, which in my mother's mind would be as good as a king, and in my mind, was almost as good as any other ordinary man. Lizzy's cynicism for the upper classes was still running rampant in my head, I imagined.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is my pleasure."

 _Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly._ Mr. Darcy seemed to be cautiously waiting for a chance to say something. He did not seem haughty or proud; just nervous. The Colonel _was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address_ seemed to be quite a gentleman. We spent some time talking about mostly trivial subjects. He tried a foray into travel and books and music; all of which would have been better topics for Lizzy. I tried to keep up, but kept glancing over at Mr. Darcy, so my responses were hardly up to my own meager standards; let alone what Lizzy or Mary would manage. The man persevered though, and I eventually got over some of my reticence and had a fairly pleasant conversation with him.

Lady Catherine watched us both carefully for the time before dinner was called, then Mr. Darcy escorted her into dinner, leaving the Colonel with me and Mary with her husband. I sat across from Mr. Darcy and next to the Colonel who continued to chatter all through the meal. I did my best to pay some attention to him, but my gaze kept returning to Mr. Darcy, wondering what he was thinking. He managed to have a reasonable conversation with Mary, and even some with Mr. Collins which seemed uncharacteristically voluble for him. Perhaps some of Lizzy's schooling had stuck, as he seemed more the man I had seen the last time we were in company before my trip to Netherfield, and much less the haughty proud man Lizzy had accosted at that first assembly. I thought that given a complete lack of history, if this were our first meeting, I would look forward to associating with the man.

During the separation of the sexes, the ladies went to the parlor and did just about the same thing we always did when we visited. We were all so well known to each other that nothing was particularly new or exciting, but we were all comfortable, and we could naturally all talk about Abbie and the parishioners all day long. On the men's side I imagined my cousin was up to his usual hijinks, so I was not terribly surprised when the men came through the door after the shortest possible interval. My cousin Mr. Collins was considerably less voluble than he had been when I first met him, but he still had a ways to go. Mary had been working with him, but he still came across as a bit too wordy for people who did not love him like we did.

The Colonel once again cornered me, and I was beginning to feel just the tiniest bit put upon. Thus far, he had used nearly every opportunity to converse with me. He was not flirting particularly outrageously, but I did wish he would have given his attention to someone else for a time because I desired to have just one or two words with Mr. Darcy.

As far as that gentleman went, Mr. Darcy did his very best to converse with the others in the room, made his best effort to not stare at me or be inconsiderate, and otherwise mostly spent his effort pretending to ignore me. It would have been entirely successful if he were not quite so studious in his efforts, but it was clear he was trying hard to give no offense.

I doubt very much that anybody in the room other than Lady Catherine knew exactly what had happened at Netherfield, and I was certainly in no hurry to enlighten them. I had heard rumors that the Colonel and Mr. Darcy were close as brothers, but I hoped that did not extend to long-winded discussions of the business of myself and my sisters. Such a thing, which I am certain is quite common, would not be very much to my liking; although I would have to sheepishly admit that Lizzy would get nearly any confidence I had regardless of who else was involved, so I imagined I should give Mr. Darcy the benefit of the doubt.

I was beginning to envision a fortnight of this kind of torture, and frankly was about fed up already. As people moved around, and entered and exited in conversation, I finally got a moment when I happened to be close to Mr. Darcy while his cousin went off to secure more libation. Since Lizzy had been pushing me for some time in her letters to let the past go, I decided to relent just a bit.

"Mr. Darcy, have you been well, sir?"

"Yes, Miss Bennet, I have been excellent."

He was such a liar, but calling him such would obviously be beyond even Lydia.

"I have not seen you in some time, sir."

"Yes, it has been around a year and a half I believe."

While he said that, I looked at him carefully and suspected he could probably tell me the interval down to the day if he really wanted to. My last conversation with him had been at the Netherfield ball, and Lizzy's last had apparently been in the breakfast room at Netherfield, when she came to visit me while I was sick… unless you count her refusal to talk to him through her guest room door as a conversation. Mr. Darcy had been back to help Mr. Bingley several times since then, but while I had seen him about the village, and occasionally in the fields bordering Longbourn, I had never talked to him directly.

Not feeling like I could stand another fortnight of this, I did something probably quite foolish.

"I find I have taken up Lizzy's old habit of walking. Mr. Darcy. The grounds here are quite lovely."

"Indeed. I can imagine your sister…"

He looked a little bit sheepish at that point, and I decided to help him along.

"Mr. Darcy, you cannot turn green every time Lizzy is mentioned. You will not survive tomorrow, let alone a fortnight."

He looked even more chagrinned, but agreed, "I shall do my best, Miss Bennet."

Becoming even more daring, I added, "I frequently walk in the morning, sir. I have found a small path that leads up to the folly that is quite lovely as the sun is coming up."

I probably would have fallen over nearly dead in mortification if I were still the Jane Bennet from Netherfield. I was not really that woman anymore, but neither was I willing to stick my neck out any farther than that.

"Yes, Miss Bennet, that is a lovely path. It is recommended any time of day, but I believe I concur that the morning is ideal."

By that time, the Colonel returned and went about trying to reclaim my attentions. I tolerated them as well as I could until it was time to go home to the parsonage.

The gentleman escorted us to the carriage, and the Colonel handed me in. I really had no idea what I thought about the Colonel, but to be truthful was not particularly interested in finding out any more than I had already seen.

* * *

At a time in the morning that I would have previously thought of as _'the crack of dawn, before even the roosters crow'_ , and I now thought of as, _'the time before Abbie wakes up and starts screaming'_ , I went in search of my usual path towards the folly. I rarely went all the way to the folly, and frankly considered it to be a bit silly, but I would never tell Lady Catherine that. The path to it was my favorite, but I usually turned around about halfway there to return to the parsonage. I did enjoy a good walk, but I was still not anything like Lizzy had once been. Of course, since losing her eyesight, Lizzy had not even been Lizzy, but that was a whole other matter.

True to my suppositions, Mr. Darcy just happened to be wandering down the path at the same time.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet. It is a lovely day for a stroll."

I managed to restrain myself from giggling, and answered somewhat seriously, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy. It is indeed."

"May I join you?"

While it was the simplest of requests, and actually one that he was nearly obliged to make now that we had _accidentally_ encountered each other, he still looked like he was working his courage up to the request.

"I would be happy for your company, Mr. Darcy."

With that we both started walking towards the folly, both with our hands clasped behind us somewhat awkwardly. He fortunately did not offer his arm, and I was not required to choose whether to accept it or not. We walked along in companionable silence for some time, before I began.

"Mr. Darcy, I had a letter recently from my sister Elizabeth."

He looked quite interested that I would mention it to him, and I continued.

"I assume your aunt has informed you that she is in New York with your cousin."

"Yes… She has."

He looked like he wished to say more, and I should not have been surprised if Lady Catherine shared some of her letters with him; nor would I have been surprised if she did not.

"She wrote me maybe six months ago, and made a suggestion, which pertains to you. Would you care to hear it?"

"Yes, very much so, if it is not breaking a confidence."

I thought it was very cute that he was offering that out, even though I had been the one to suggest the scheme. I believed it told me something of his character; as did the fact that he had made no attempt to contact either of the sisters when we had asked him not to do so. He was at his aunt's house, whom he could not avoid forever, and I could perfectly well have avoided him by going home for a fortnight, or simply remaining in the parsonage which would have been no punishment. He was following his implied word to the letter. However, Lizzy give me a task, and I am not one to shirk my duty.

"Lizzy suggested that…"

At that point I momentarily lost my courage. I would have expected him to say something encouraging, or look at me with some sympathy, but he seemed to instinctively understand that was not what I needed. He simply nodded, and waited as if he would happily wait a fortnight if necessary.

"She suggested that… Well… She suggested that we leave this unpleasant business behind us. She is no longer angry, nor am I particularly… may we just… I know not… perhaps just skip the awkward apologies if any… as well as the recriminations, and vexations and… and… perhaps simply begin anew? When you disassociated from Miss Bingley, you did all that was required, so may we just leave it at that?"

He seemed somewhat astonished by the suggestion, and if I had to guess I would say he still felt like he owed an apology, but eventually he came around to my way of thinking, and agreed, "I would like that very much, Miss Bennet, and I truly hope I may do he same with Miss Elizabeth at her earliest convenience."

After that he did the funniest thing. He simply stepped in front of me, and introduced himself entirely properly as if we had never heard of each other… well, as proper as a self‑introduction could be. He bowed, I curtsied, and then we carried on towards the folly, both of us trying our best to leave the awkwardness behind. I think in both of our cases, our best was not really very good, but it would have to do for the moment.

* * *

After that first encounter, things became more comfortable with Mr. Darcy. I frequently encountered either him or the Colonel at Rosings, and both gentlemen called at the parsonage, either singly or together. One day, we were having a nice conversation with my sister Mary, and in a flash of impertinence, I said, "Mr. Darcy, why do you allow the Colonel to so dominate conversations in your presence. It seems to me that you have much more to say once you get down to it."

His expression was something I could not quite read, but was certainly nothing I had seen on him before. He was kind of a cross between a smile and a frown, perhaps rueful and introspective at the same time, and he finally said, "I was a terrible conversationalist for most of my life, Miss Bennet. I have a very difficult time understanding people's expressions or following their way of speaking when I do not know them well. Your sister taught me better… well, actually, she taught me many things, but that was one of them. In my cousin's presence I sometimes fall back on my old habits, but I do believe I am a better man for having been instructed by Miss Elizabeth."

At that moment, had a sneaking suspicion that I knew exactly what Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was all about. I very much doubted that he would ever act on his obvious feelings for Lizzy, but there was very little doubt in my mind that the feelings were there. I could hardly wait for Lizzy to come home, because I thought if she could also openly forgive him as I had done, whether he was at fault or not, or whether he deserved forgiveness are not; that he might then be able to use this newfound amiability to move his life forward.

I imagined he must be now around nine and twenty, and his situation seemed little changed from when I had known him the year before. I expected sooner or later he would have to worry about marriage, but he seemed a little bit stuck. I hoped Lizzy might be able to unstick him somehow. I had no idea how to do it myself, but Lizzy would know. Lizzy always knew.

* * *

I was out on one of my usual morning rambles, when I heard a rustle behind me. Expecting it to be Mr. Darcy, who would meet me on my walks most days, I was quite surprised to see Colonel Fitzwilliam.

After appropriate greetings were exchanged, I asked, _"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."_

 _"I have been making the tour of the park," he replied, "as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"_

 _"No, I should have turned in a moment."_

The assertion was not _precisely_ the truth. I would have turned in a dozen moments, but be that as it may it was time to go back to the parsonage for breakfast, and I had no desire to prolong the walk if it included the Colonel.

The gentleman turned and offered to walk me back towards the parsonage. He did offer his arm, and I felt somewhat obligated to take it, and we walked back at a reasonably brisk pace. I knew it was nearing the end of their visit, so I thought to ask a question for which I perfectly well knew the answer just to give us something to do.

 _"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?"_

 _"Yes-if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases. He has the pleasure in the great power of choice. He likes to have his own way very well… But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."_

I thought that sounded more than a touch on the whingey side, or actually a lot on that side, and nearly as wordy as my cousin Collins, but could not really say that directly. Neither could I allow it to go completely unchallenged, so I replied tongue in cheek.

 _"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"_

 _"These are home questions-and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."_

I slowed down my response just to insure I could reply without using the word 'complain' or any similar sentiment.

 _"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do."_

 _"Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money."_

At this point, I had so thoroughly left the bounds of any conversation I wished to have with any man, let alone the Colonel, that I refrained from asking exactly how much it cost to purchase the son of an earl. It was a subject I obviously had no wish to visit in any depth, and I cannot begin to describe how happy I was to see the gate of the parsonage, with Mary walking out carrying a little bit of grain for her poultry.

With such a perfect excuse, I thanked the Colonel for his superfluous escort, and ran to assist Mary.

* * *

Saturday came and the gentleman had not parted. We received word from Lady Catherine when she made one of her visits that she had made some momentous decisions about the management of the estate, and required both of her nephews for another week or two. I imagined they were both grinding their teeth, but they would either get over it or they would not; neither of which would have any effect on me… well, except I knew I would miss Mr. Darcy's company, as I was finding him most agreeable. I had _almost_ even considered the idea of broaching the subject of Mr. Bingley, but never gathered enough of both inclination and courage at the same time.

We were curious what the changes in management might entail, but not overly so. It was well known that Anne was off in America with Elizabeth, and we all believed she was the heir. Lady Catherine still looked as stout as an oak tree, and likely to outlive us all, so nobody was particularly worried about the next few years. From some things I had heard though, Anne was not likely to wish to marry, nor was her health likely up to the task, so she seemed unlikely to take care of the generation after. Perhaps now was the time for Lady Catherine to see to the matter. Perhaps the lady planned to make Mr. Darcy the heir, or perhaps even the Colonel. Crazier things had been done.

Mostly, we did not worry about it. I met Mr. Darcy most days on my morning rambles, and I had to say I liked him more and more as time went on; and by the Saturday he was supposed to leave, I liked him a great deal. I considered it so unfortunate that his association with Elizabeth had been cut short by Mr. Bingley's horrid sisters before it really had a chance to establish itself; as I believe they could have been the best of lifelong friends if not more. In character, knowledge and disposition, they were of such disposition that they could have spent many happy hours in each other's company. I certainly would count the man as a friend now, and that was entirely surprising.

* * *

 _"Miss Bennet, I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you."_

I looked in surprise at the unexpected, and frankly unwelcome interruption. I had been reading my last letter from Lizzy, which contained the wonderful news that she would be returning to England in only another few months. I was just imagining Elizabeth's homecoming, and the Colonel's interruption was not particularly welcome. The Colonel was not an unpleasant man, but I had never really developed any particular rapport with him. He was just another one of those semi‑handsome, semi-flirty, quasi-acceptable, not particularly serious men that you see from time to time.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam"

The man looked quite agitated, which was surprising. I had seen him in any number of states and conditions, but never one of agitation. However, I simply held my peace. If he was agitated, he would either say whatever he meant to say or he would not. Neither was of any real concern to me.

"Miss Bennet, I have momentous news. My aunt, Lady Catherine, has decided to make me her heir."

This was surprising news. I knew nothing particularly bad about the Colonel, and he did not seem like an especially serious man, but I imagined Lady Catherine knew what she was doing. She certainly did not need any advice from the likes of me.

"Congratulations, Colonel."

With that, the Colonel did the most surprising thing I could have imagined. Well actually, that overstates the case because I do not think I really could have imagined what he did next. The Colonel paced around in circles for a few moments with an agitated look, then looked earnestly at my face and said the oddest thing.

" _In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you._ I have been obsessed with your beauty, your wit and your liveliness since meeting you. As you know, I have always had the need to wed with fortune in mind, but now that limitation has been lifted. Miss Jane Bennet, would you do me the supreme honor of accepting my hand in marriage."

 _My astonishment was beyond expression. I stared, colored, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for me, immediately followed…_ and followed… and followed… and followed.

Of course, he had only known me about three weeks, so 'long felt' would have to be overstating the case by at least an order of magnitude. He carried on for quite some time, and frankly most of it made no sense at all. He talked about his struggles in coming to terms with accepting somebody with so little fortune and such low connections, and how lucky he felt that he could now disregard such degradations, and promised faithfully that after we were married, no word of my low fortune or other unsuitable attributes would ever cross his lips again.

This debacle went on for some time, and it was frightfully confusing because I had a very difficult time trying to determine whether he was trying to propose marriage or insult me. It was absolutely the most horrendous proposal in the history of the English language I am quite certain. I did not know if he was overly nervous, thought too highly of himself and his station or was just stupid.

When he was finally finished, he looked at me with anxious expectation, as if he had already made up his mind and my acceptance was the only thing left to be accomplished. Who after all could possibly turn down the son of an Earl and heir of Rosings.

I tried my very best to think of something Lizzy might say when she was not spitting mad. She really was quite good at coming up with words of reconciliation when she felt like it. Of course, she was also quite capable of taking the hide off a bull at fifty paces with her tongue, but I thought that was probably not the behavior I wanted to emulate today. My own normal demeanor had always been so accommodating and mild that people felt like they could push me around. I thought in this case I should better emulate Lizzy, just to make sure the message was understood.

The Colonel was reaching for my hand, which alarmed me a bit, so I replied quickly.

 _"You are too hasty, sir," I cried. "You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline them."_

I was very proud of myself with that reply. It seemed firm enough to overcome any resistance, clear enough that it was a definitive "no", and all in all, I thought a very good effort. Rejecting a proposal was bound to be unpleasant, and this seemed like it should be as gently as a man could be let down.

I was sitting there congratulating myself on the efficacy and innate kindness of my refusal, when the Colonel did the unthinkable. Apparently having paid not the slightest attention to what I said, he simply said, "I am not to be denied, Miss Bennet."

At that time, I begin to know a touch of fear. The man's amiable countenance had hardened up to an alarming degree, and he simply stepped the few feet that separated us, grabbed me firmly about the waist, and kissed me – hard. It was not an affectionate kiss, or a gentle kiss; NOT the sort of thing I expected as my first kiss. It was predatory. It was a man thinking he could claim his place with impunity, and a man thinking what I had was his to take; or more likely, his ego and pride insisted I would appreciate what he had to offer if he gave me a taste, and his manly charms would easily overcome my maidenly modesty. Perhaps this is an attitude soldiers are taught or learn among their comrades, or maybe the son of an Earl felt it was his due, or maybe battle and killing had made something hard out of him, or maybe all men thought that way. I did not know, and did not want to.

I was naturally not very sanguine about that approach, and since he had the poor sense to grab me around my waist leaving my hands free, I wound my arm back as far as I could, and slapped him across the face hard enough to dislodge teeth. Of course, in my panic I may have forgotten to uncurl my fingers, and it is entirely possible I left four big bloody scratch marks down the side of his cheeks. This seemed to just make him angrier, and he raised his hand to swing at me.

At this point I was truly frightened, and started trying to back away while glancing around looking for some type of relief. I was taken completely by surprise when I saw a fist come out of the side of my vision only to smack on the side of the Colonel's head like the fist of God smiting a sinner. The Colonel staggered back, releasing me, and I jumped back a few feet and prepared to run away.

As I prepared to run, I found my feet were glued to the ground because I could not stand the thought of missing what was happening in front of me. The fist to the side of the Colonel's head was followed quickly by another to the other side of his head, another to his face, and yet another and another. Mr. Darcy's calm and serene countenance was entirely gone. He looked like a madman, and I wondered if he would kill the Colonel… and briefly considered whether that would be a good thing or bad.

After delivering his third or fourth blow to the Colonel, Mr. Darcy stepped back a couple of feet, looked at me and asked if I was well. I simply nodded, and he said the strangest things.

"Miss Bennet, I would prefer if you were not to witness what is about to happen here."

"Mr. Darcy, I have already witnessed quite enough. I will see the rest of it."

"Miss Bennet, I beg of you. Things will get _very ugly_ here."

"Things are already _very ugly_. Please proceed, Mr. Darcy."

Our tête-à-tête was interrupted by the Colonel staggering back from the ground, eyeing Mr. Darcy warily, but clearly ready to defend himself. As I saw him coming towards Mr. Darcy, I also saw at least two gardeners standing around watching, no doubt believing this to be the most entertainment they would have all year. At that point I knew that my reputation was going to be in tatters, whether I deserved it or not. I would be a fallen woman before nightfall, no matter how the two cousins settled their differences. It was far too late for them to settle it privately, so here and now seemed as good a time as any. I should have been in a panic over the approaching scandal, but I really did not have it in me at the time. I was certain that would come sooner or later though. My only real concern at that moment was for Mr. Darcy's health, as things did indeed look as if a frightful bit of ugliness was about to ensue.

Mr. Darcy, looked carefully at the Colonel and said, "Injury or death Fitzwilliam. Make your choice."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but it sounded an awful lot like a challenge to a duel. The Colonel stood up straighter, gave Mr. Darcy what I thought was a malevolent stare, and said, "This is not your business Darcy."

Mr. Darcy, apparently completely unperturbed, simply said, "You accosted _my friend_ , whom I like and respect enormously, who I consider under _my protection_ , on your own aunt's estate! _This is_ _very much_ _my business!_ Make your choice, Fitzwilliam! Make it now!"

The Colonel actually sneered at Mr. Darcy, and said, "Let us settle it now then."

With that, something began that I cannot even begin to describe. The Colonel came at Mr. Darcy like a madman, and Mr. Darcy, no longer looking mad in the least, simply stepped aside every punch, and then landed one of his own. Each swing by Mr. Darcy either found a spot previously injured to make it hurt even worse, or yet another spot that had never been touched. The encounter went on for what may have been minutes or hours, but Mr. Darcy was the soul of calmness and discretion. That is not to say that the Colonel was unskilled, or Mr. Darcy untouched. The Colonel landed far more than one punch and kick that I thought would probably be the end of Mr. Darcy, such was the extreme nature of the violence, and I for the life of me could not figure out why I was not running and screaming in the other direction. Both men were battered and bruised in every visible part of their bodies, and clearly injured in the hidden part as well. Mr. Darcy's left eye was alarmingly black and halfway shut, while the Colonel's nose was broken and he had the start of bruises all over his face to go along with my scratch marks, which were bleeding all over his uniform. Both men were sweating like lathered racehorses, both were slowing, and both seemed ready to kill the other.

On and on it went. Punch after punch, kick after kick, with the Colonel gradually becoming angry and angrier, while Mr. Darcy became calmer and calmer. Mr. Darcy eventually tired of the game, and then simply started hitting the Colonel so fast the man could not react. His veneer of calmness gone, I for a moment thought he would probably kill the Colonel. I eventually broke out of my stupor when I saw the Colonel fall with what I believed was no chance whatsoever of getting up, and Mr. Darcy leaning down to deliver possibly the killing blow. All it took was my hand on his arm to stop the swing, but it took him some moments before he was master of himself again. I had seen the level of violence raging within him, but rather than being frightened by it, I was comforted. _This man_ would never do violence on an innocent, nor would he allow it while he breathed. I felt confident I could add 'tough as shoe leather' to 'abominably handsome' when finding. ways to describe him. At that moment, he was my favorite man in the world.

He finally turned to me and said, "Miss Bennet, I imagine you have seen the gardeners; and the groomsmen. I doubt that we will be able to contain this."

"Yes sir, I know. I thank you for coming to my defense. I will not marry him, for I would feel obliged to cut his throat on the wedding night. My sisters and I will need to accustom ourselves to scandal. It cannot be avoided."

Mr. Darcy looked at one of the offending gardeners, and said, "You there – both of you. Drag this man back to Rosings, and have him put under lock and key. He is to have no conversation with _anyone_ except me. Then you are to guard the room until I arrive, and _you will talk to nobody! Not a single soul!_ Am I clear?"

Both gardeners realized that they had long since passed the time when they should have made themselves scarce, and neither one felt being in Mr. Darcy's bad graces would be good for them. Both simply gave him a knuckle, and reached down to do exactly as he had directed, picking the Colonel up none too gently by arms and legs. There were a few more who had come to watch the excitement, but one glance around at the others had them scurrying away like rats from a sinking ship. There was little point in making any more of a scene of it.

Mr. Darcy turned back to me and carried on as if the interruption had not happened at all.

"Miss Bennet, I am afraid I made a bad situation worse. I completely lost all vestiges of my self‑control and you saw the results. Much of the damage to your reputation is my fault, so I will not allow you to shoulder the consequences. This is the second time I have allowed a wolf free reign to prey on the Bennet sisters. Last time your sister took care of things, _this time I will."_

"Mr. Darcy, I do feel you take too much upon yourself. Had you any indication that the Colonel would act in this way?"

With that question, Mr. Darcy's reserve of strength seemed like it would crack and break at any time.

"No, Miss Bennet, I had no idea. My aunt has suggested she would make him her heir, and he seems to have snapped. I know not whether this has been hidden under the veneer all this time, or a behavior that was generated by his time on the battlefield, or if that was just always his hidden nature. Either way, I brought him here, and he is my responsibility."

I really had no idea what Mr. Darcy could do about it, so I replied, "As I said Mr. Darcy, we shall endure. I have no doubt that you and your aunt will do whatever you can to help us, and we will survive the episode. Lizzy never expected to wed. Mary and Longbourn are secure. My younger sisters should not even be out, so they can bide their time for a few years. All will be well, sir."

Mr. Darcy looked at me quite carefully, and said, "You, your sisters and your parents would all be materially affected by a scandal, and you can see how many people have had at least a glimpse of what happened here. I will not have you married to my cousin, but I would like to offer you _my hand_ in marriage Miss Bennet. We will still endure some scandal, but most of it will go away nearly immediately if a marriage is announced quickly, and the appropriate rumors are circulated to explain the altercation. I know you well enough to believe that we will get along perfectly well, as I already consider you a close friend. I shall give you all the love, honor and respect that is due of a man's wife. I realize I am not the man you would choose, but I offer this freely and with a glad heart. We can be happy, or at least content together. All I will ask is that you give me an heir, and as much of your heart as you can."

I stared at the man and could think of nothing to say. I was in no way fooled that he had been in love with me for months and was using this as an opportunity to obtain my hand. There was every chance he wanted _a_ Bennet sister, but very little chance that he wanted _this_ Bennet sister – and yet he was prepared to go forward, and I had no doubt of the outcome. _We would be happy together._ We were both peaceful, honorable people. I knew enough to understand that time together (and I blushed a little bit to think that that would include time in the marriage bed) could bring people together. A shared life, shared responsibilities, shared children could do what affection had not… _after_ the wedding. If we both allowed ourselves the chance to love each other, we could learn to do so, and it would not be at all difficult. Marrying the very best man I knew could be no hardship. It would be a _very_ good answer for me, and probably not so bad of an answer for him considering that he was very short on heirs now, and not making any progress towards resolving the deficiency. It was the perfect answer to the problem.

I very nearly said "yes". I very nearly said it. The answer was right there on the tip of my tongue nearly falling out of my mouth… and yet… and yet… and yet, I felt I needed to know something.

"Mr. Darcy, I do appreciate the honor of your address, and believe me when I assert that you are the best man I know. _I do believe we could be very happy together. We could be the couple everyone envies!_ However, my honor demands that I ask a question. Will you entertain it before I give you my answer?"

He simply nodded, so I asked, "I know you are trying to do what you think is _the very best for me_ , but I am in no way convinced that this is the only alternative you considered. Have you other solutions that might solve the problem of scandal without your own hand, sir?"

He stared at me for a moment, and seemed to be taking the measure of me. You never know if you are really reading a person correctly, or simply placing your own wishes and ambitions upon their countenance, but I liked to believe that the answer made him respect me just a bit more. I had no doubt that he already liked me very much and respected me as well, or he would have found some alternative answer, but _this_ answer made him – not happy, but perhaps content in a way.

His answer was what I expected, "I believe you could have the same effect marrying nearly any man of means, so long as we manage the story those gardeners spread tonight, but the decision has to be made quickly. If those gardeners believe I was protecting either my betrothed or a closely aligned engaged woman, nearly all the shame will go where it belongs; and those men _will_ spread any story I ask of them."

He took a deep breath, looked at me carefully to judge how I was hearing this, and continued, "I could name you three or four men that I know very well, who are honorable and worthy, in want of a wife, but also in need of some fortune. Most are trying to recover from the profligacy of fathers or older brothers, and to do their best for their estates and defendants. I would not shackle you with a fortune hunter, but if you are willing to trust me, I believe I could find you someone suitable who is decisive enough to do what needs to be done quickly. Any of them would take my word about your good qualities, and with your dowry would be perfectly willing to enter a marriage immediately, and allow a not quite accurate rumor of the betrothal date to stand."

"I have no dowry, Mr. Darcy. You probably do not know that, but it is so insignificant as to be nonexistent."

He simply looked at me and said, "You do now."

The simple matter of fact statement had me gasping. The man had just offered me _his entire life._ Offering a bit of money was a trifle by comparison; yet it was loaded with meaning. The fact that he had _not_ offered money _first_ told me even more about his character. The gentleman had already calculated that he could probably solve the problem of my reputation by throwing money at it, in an amount that he would not miss; and yet he had chosen the route that he thought best for me. He knew I esteemed him, but had no idea how I felt about anyone else so he offered the safest route so I would not feel pressured to an unsuitable match. He _thought_ these other men would treat me well, but _knew_ he would himself. He offered the only answer where he could be _certain_ of the good behavior of my future husband. I admired him more than ever.

"Might you tell me a little bit about these men, Mr. Darcy. Do I know any of them?"

I knew the answer before he even said it. In fact, I must have known the answer before I even asked the question.

Nevertheless, he answered, "I believe Bingley would marry you right here, right now without a second thought. He has lamented losing your good will almost constantly for the last year. He has been relentless in improving himself, with the idea of becoming worthy. You have seen his efforts from afar, but I have watched them closely and can tell you that he is I proved. He learned a hard lesson last year… we both did. Bingley did learn it, and learn it well. He is worthy, and would be thrilled to know he has come up to the mark. He is still in want of the kind of good sense a wife can provide, but is otherwise a very good man."

Even though I had been expecting the answer, his nonchalant statement of fact set my mind at ease. I had locked Mr. Bingley away in such a small tight corner of my mind for so long that I could almost pretend that I had not thought about him in ages. Mr. Darcy obviously knew that Mr. Bingley still held a tendre for me, but had offered himself first for my own comfort and security. He _almost_ trusted Mr. Bingley with my future, but _completely_ trusted himself.

I simply looked at my best friend in the world and said, "If I need to fall in love with my husband after marriage Mr. Darcy, perhaps it would be easier to fall in love with a man where I am already halfway there. If Mr. Bingley will have me, I will happily marry him… quite happily, but he needs to know the entire story and be allowed to make his own choice."

Thus concluded the oddest proposal in the history of the Bennet family. If Mr. Darcy said Mr. Bingley wanted to marry me, it would almost certainly be so. I agreed with the match, and I was not at all certain I knew how I felt about it. I was either looking forward to it, or petrified, or more likely both.

Mr. Darcy said, "As you wish Miss Bennet. I will have Bingley here late tonight, and you may discuss the matter. It is 50 miles of good road to Hertfordshire, just half a day's ride. I shall send an express rider instantly, and demand his presence immediately. You may consider my offer open until you have accepted another. I will not see you distressed."

I took in the earnestness on his face, and wondered at my nonchalance at throwing away a proposal from the richest, handsomest, most amiable, most intelligent and definitely most honorable man I had ever met; and the man I currently considered my best friend in the world. I was throwing it all away over a man who barely attached my heartstrings over three or four public meetings before his sisters split us apart; and wondered why I felt like I had just done the right thing.

First was the obvious thought that this would not be Mr. Darcy's first choice. Nobody wanted to settle for second choice, so I did not want to be his second choice any more than he wanted to be mine. Both of us would have been content with a marriage, and probably even very happy eventually, but it would never be _quite_ right.

After some moments, I said carefully, "Very well Mr. Darcy, but I believe you may put your mind at ease. I shall be quite content, and in the end, I believe both of us will be very happy. _But make no mistake sir! I will allow neither of you to be forced into marriage with me. He will come to me freely and happily, or not at all!_ "

Mr. Darcy looked thoughtful and replied, "I think you have no need to worry about his willingness, but I must allow him to speak for himself. As to your future felicity, I trust your judgment Miss Bennet, but I am curious. You have only talked to the man for perhaps a few hours at best, and that under very constrained social situations. How can you be so certain?"

It seemed quite a good question, because there was very little evidence to support my feeling that I would be happy. I gave it a few moments of thought, and said, "I believe I may answer that question with two things my sister likes to say."

He looked at me in expectation, so I continued, "Lizzy likes to say, ' _Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure'_ , and _'I always believe in first impressions'_. I can easily forgive Mr. Bingley for the offenses that were not even committed by himself, and I assure you sir, my first impressions were quite favorable, as were my second, third and fourth. I believe his actions over the past year have brought his actual character more in alignment with what my first impressions supposed, and I believe I will be quite content with the man you will bring me tomorrow. Perhaps the Mr. Bingley of a year and a half ago would not have suited, but I believe the Mr. Bingley of today will do well. Neither of us are what we were, and sometimes you just have to jump off a cliff and learn to fly on the way down."

Mr. Darcy just nodded in acknowledgment of the agreement, and I had to admit that I saw a bit of a smile on his face. A more cynical person might think he was smiling because he had dodged yet another matrimonial bullet; but that was not my nature. I believe he was happy because he had turned a bad situation into a good one, and thought that the results would be most satisfactory.

"Mr. Darcy, I should tell you one other thing that may be of interest."

"I will hear it with pleasure, Miss Bennet."

"While it is true I have only talked to Mr. Bingley briefly and under tight social constraints, it is also true that I have _talked to you quite extensively in complete privacy_. At the moment, I consider you the best friend I have. I trust you Mr. Darcy, so if you trust Mr. Bingley, that is good enough for me."

It was hard to say how he took that news, primarily because his left eye was entirely swollen shut by that time, I could see the beginning of bruises down the side of his face, and it was obvious his left arm was hurting abominably. The man was tough as nails, but the effort to finish what he had started was very costly.

"Mr. Darcy, we need to get you some medical attention. I believe the Colonel will keep for a few hours, and perhaps a little time in gaol will build some character. Come with me and let me see you your comfort. It is the least I can do."

I judged that we were closer to Rosings then the parsonage, so I simply took his arm, trying to pretend I might support some of his weight, and led him off to see his aunt. I supposed we would tell her the story together, and the Colonel would be gone before nightfall… or perhaps the lady would keep him locked in that room in bread and water for a month or two. Either outcome was perfectly suitable to me. I had no idea what would happen to his infamous ' _habits of expense'_ as it was dead certain his days of leeching off Mr. Darcy were over, and I doubted very much that his father or elder brother was going to be very enamored with the scandal he had brought to the family. The Colonel could forget about being heir do anything other than his sword and his horse for the foreseeable future.

As we walked, I thought it might be worthwhile to distract Mr. Darcy from his pain; or perhaps I more selfishly wanted to use this distraction to ask an untoward question.

"Mr. Darcy, do you believe that the few hours I spent in Mr. Bingley's company can give me enough information to make a reasonable decision about how to live the rest of my life?"

Mr. Darcy was not a man who gave thoughtless answers to questions, or even the first thing that came to his mind. When he answered a question, he had thought it through. You may be frustrated by how long you had to wait for his opinion; and you not approve or disdain his answer, but it would be what he really thought.

"Yes, Miss Bennet. I do believe that to be the case that two people of sound character may learn quite a lot in very little time. You have both grown in the last year and a half, but your essential goodness of character was well fixed back then. I have come to appreciate what he saw almost immediately, and I think you will find him exactly what you though he was back then."

Giving him what I thought was probably a bit of an impudent grin, I said, "Exactly as I thought, sir. Now I have one more question before I let you go."

"I am at your disposal, Miss Bennet."

I was happy to see a little bit of his good humor peeking through his pain and obvious discomfort. I simply smirked and asked, "Well sir, I ask because I am curious about exactly how much time you have spent in conversation with my sister Lizzy."

He looked a bit stunned by the question, which was as things should be.


	6. Catch No Evil

_A/N: Hey gang, hope you're enjoying this. It's been a very interesting ride. This somewhat delayed chapter is yet another crazy writing experiment, but I promise this is the last brand-new style and after this chapter it will be back to business as usual._

 _The long delay for this chapter was for three reasons. Do not be alarmed! This is_ _not_ _another deep dive into Mr. Collins FPPOV. The first is RL encroaching. My wife and I are super-busy with our company. The second is that the last chapter caught us up to where I had at least written a rough draft. The third and most important, is that I_ _completely_ _changed this chapter, and in fact the entire rest of the story. Let's see how you like it, and if anyone asks, I might describe my original idea in an A/N at the end. In my usual bout of scope creep, the story also got longer by at least 2-3 chapters._

 _This chapter is another 7k monster, and we just passed the 'novel' threshold (40k words). In fact, the chapter turned out so huge I broke it into two, and it's still big._

 _This chapter is also not only a new style for this story, but an entirely new style for me altogether, although I certainly didn't invent it. I hope it's more successful than the emojis. Let's see if you can guess, where I borrowed it from. You're on the honor system. Just put your guess in a review. The only clue I'll give you is that it is a very light version of a style copied from another master, and there is a hint in the chapter title. Answer is at the end of the chapter._

 _Wade_

* * *

 _Bravery or cowardice? Intelligence or instinct? Here or there? Right or wrong? Wisdom or foolishness? Heart or head? Love or hate? Sight or sound? Life or death? Such are the big questions of life. Such are the things that people of good character, sound judgment and innate curiosity lie awake worrying about at night. Were all these terms truly antonyms? Did every person lean towards one pole or another? Could any particular act be considered all one extreme or the other? More importantly, could one act be considered one and the same or both at the same time? Was it all a matter of interpretation, or were there absolutes in the world? Such were the thoughts of three ladies and three gentlemen in one hot night in early August of 1812, about a month after the United States of America very unexpectedly declared war on England._

* * *

Elizabeth Bennet sat in the parlor and reveled in the silence. Not a person in the world could consider Anne de Bourgh a harsh taskmaster, nor could they easily consider Elizabeth Bennet to be overworked or neglected. She was still a gentlewoman of leisure, unlikely to starve, able to retire early and rise late. Even better, she was companion to a friend as close as any of her sisters, and had sufficient remuneration to do things that she considered important and worthwhile. Yes, she was quite content with her situation, _except_ for the _complete_ lack of silence.

In Hertfordshire, before Elizabeth did what she sheepishly had to admit was nothing more than running away from a harpy, she could go out into her father's garden or wilderness, wander the familiar paths until she was a half-mile from the house, and be completely free of all sounds of man or beast. The occasional hawk or hare might accompany her, and the wind through the trees was her constant companion, singing the lullaby of the woodlands, but otherwise silence reigned.

Unfortunately, here in the New World, here in New York, here in the hustle and bustle of commerce and work and burgeoning life, she was always in company, always accompanied, always safe, always watched over, never alone, never lonely, never neglected, never silent… until that August night.

It had taken a fit of stubbornness that would have impressed even her mother, but Elizabeth had _finally_ managed to get Anne to go to a ball alone; or as alone as one could be, accompanied by two footmen, a driver, a maid and a dowager countess who had retired to New York to be near her son. Another bit of… well let us say it was impertinence, or perhaps small fibs, or perhaps outright lies and misdirection… left the servants out for a night on the town at Elizabeth's expense. For the very first time in over a year, Elizabeth Bennet was all alone in a house amid the silence of her own thoughts. While she missed the lullaby of the wind in the trees, she was otherwise content.

 _This_ alone time, had a different flavor than the time she spent alone in her bed. At night, her excellent hearing could hear the creaking of the townhouse, Anne coughing, the steady ticking of too many clocks, and the steady snoring of at least one and usually more, of the servants. She could even occasionally hear _other sounds_ coming from the direction of the footmen and maid's quarters that she in no way wished to explore in any depth… or explore at all for that matter. In her bed at night was _not_ the same as being alone… not even close.

"I beg your pardon ma'am, but may I have the honor of the next dance?"

Anne de Bourgh looked at the man in front of her in perplexity. Here in America, the rules were entirely different and she was never quite certain she understood them. Even back in England, she had never been certain she had everything right. She had missed so much of the things that could only be learned in company, because of both her ill health and her isolation in Rosings.

Anne thought that _perhaps_ her mother could have done better to prepare her for society, but Anne had long ago worked something out. As a daughter, she felt that she _might_ feel entitled to criticize her mother, _if_ she ever had a daughter sick to death for over a decade. Until then she would keep her peace. Lady Catherine de Bourgh may not have done everything right according to those that were not there, but Anne was loath to think she had any right to complain. An ill child was like a cancer on your soul, and Anne was only happy her mother had survived the ordeal as intact as she was. Anne well knew it would have been easier for her mother if she had died, but was glad she had not.

Now however was not the time for introspection. Now was the time to show she at least was familiar with the English language, even if it was spoken oddly.

Anne replied, a little bit shyly, "My pardon sir, we have not been introduced."

Jane Bennet prepared for the upcoming encounter in the most comfortable place she knew, the parlor at Rosings. The gentleman was due any time, and she found she vacillated wildly between the states of euphoria, mortal anguish and chastisement at herself over her choices. What in the world had made her give up on the courtship of Mr. Darcy and basically force herself on Mr. Bingley? Was she the bravest woman she knew or the most cowardly? Was her heart really driving her, or did her head know that as amiable and comfortable Mr. Darcy was as a friend, as a lover he would not suit? It took no wild flights of fancy or discernment to see that they were not at all similar. Was she simply trading another man's comfort in life for her own; for there was very little doubt Mr. Bingley would feel honor bound to offer for her, and she would feel honor bound to accept.

Finally, at long last, the door opened and she gazed on the man whose fate appeared to be bound up with hers. One look at his face convinced her he was not displeased with his current position, and her heart lurched unexpectedly. She had not laid eyes on him in over half a year, and the old proverb about absence making the heart grow fonder seemed to be in effect.

"Miss Bennet, it is uncommonly good to see you."

"Mr. Bingley, thank you for coming. I know this is not easy."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Bennet."

Fitzwilliam Darcy strode down the hall of Rosings with a worried frown on his face. He had just seen Bingley to the parlor, but nothing happening behind that door was of the least concern. Jane and Bingley were just two puzzle pieces that had been wandering through the world waiting to find each other, and the result was as inevitable as if he had pushed a glass off a cliff. He passed his Aunt Catherine in the hall, and she looked toward the parlor with a little smile on her face, no more concerned than he was.

Darcy stopped to say, "Aunt Catherine, I imagine I have calmed down enough to talk to Richard without killing him, but it is a near thing. By your leave, I will go see him now and work out what is to be done."

"If he were anybody but family, what must be done would be obvious and not to the credit of his health. However, with him, I do not know. He was not always thus."

Darcy pushed his hand through his hair, sighed and said, "No, he was not. The behavior was unpardonable, but it makes me wonder if we all are hanging on a precipice, just a few experiences from savagery. War does funny things to a man. Perhaps he is just… _broken_."

"Perhaps"

"How do you resolve such a thing? We cannot send a monster back into the world, but we also cannot hold our own family to an impossible standard. I do not know, but I imagine I will have to work it out soon. It is only by the barest good fortune that all will worked out for the best for Miss Bennet. It was a very near thing."

"Yes, for once in my life I am not at all sure the right course of action."

On any other day Darcy would have reveled in the odd notion of Lady Catherine de Bourgh being unsure of herself, but today he just understood it.

"Since he did all this on your estate, I feel I need to offer you the opportunity to deal with him if you choose, but I shall not insist on it, since I brought him here. It might be best if I just take care of the matter."

The lady sighed wistfully, and replied, "In this matter, I will not presume to instruct you, Nephew. Go see him. Do what must be done. Ask anything of me you require, but otherwise I leave it in your hands. Perhaps you should leave it to his father?"

The man standing before Anne just laughed a bit. He was a half-handsome man, sort of rugged but not roguish, well‑dressed but not ostentatiously. He was half a foot taller than Anne herself, which made him of middling height. Her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam would have dragged the man away for a drink and some conversation before he even got three words out of him, while Darcy would have scowled and scared him away.

Where Anne was concerned, she was just astounded. She _had_ danced before, quite frequently by her previous standards, but never with someone who introduced himself, and frankly, never without unconsciously using Lizzy as bait. Anne was so used to thinking of herself as a pale and sickly creature, that the idea of someone voluntarily noticing her and giving his attentions was quite startling. Lizzy had managed to inject a fair bit of courage in the young heiress, but old habits and ways of thinking died hard, and she still expected to only dance with people who saw and admired Lizzy first.

While Anne looked on in confusion, the gentleman continued without any real interruption, apparently not intimated by indecisiveness.

Elizabeth's thoughts drifted to her own past, and she truly began to wonder at the contradictions of her life. Was she brave or cowardly, wise or foolish? She had, in her own humble opinion, weathered the loss of her sight rather well. Her first year of railing against her fate, her tilting at windmills as she liked to call it, had mostly been done under cover of darkness in her own bed, hidden even from Jane. Daylight hours were when a person of strength and character took the slights she could suddenly hear though the speaker was yards away and whispering; with the aplomb necessary to insure she was no burden to her family or her own self-respect. She took the silliness of her sisters, the indolence of her father, the shrillness of her mother and her fears about what she would be when she was a fifty or sixty-year-old blind and nearly penniless spinster; combined with the worries about her elder sister, out in society for six years without a suitor, all in stride. Nighttime was for crying… daytime was for strength and resilience.

Elizabeth had built up a layer of armor any stone would be proud of and any medieval knight would not disdain; _and yet_ she had run from a single unkind remark from a woman she despised, who had no connection at all to the Bennets. She had gone so far as to run nearly 4,000 miles and into another life to escape. Why? Why run? Why not at least let the gentlemen of Netherfield who had done her no real harm apologize? Was she a coward, a wise woman, both, neither… or was she running from something far worse and more insidious than fear? Was she running from hope?

Anne's unexpected gentleman chuckled a bit and replied.

"My pardon, my lady. I am George Read of Cleveland, Ohio at your service. If you insist, I will scour the room for someone who knows someone who you know; or if you prefer I will go accost some matron that we can both pretend to know; but for myself, I prefer to dance _with you_ and worry about the formalities later, if at all. Nobody need ever know we never met before."

Anne was a bit perplexed by that, but decided it was just the American way, and she could treat it as another of the oddities of this journey. After Lizzy climbed to the crow's nest of a ship wearing sailor's trousers, what was a little self‑introduction, and as the man said, who would ever know?

Anne answered a bit self‑consciously, not certain whether she wished Lizzy was here or not. Lizzy would not have been the least bit intimidated by a self‑introduction. In fact, had she not done that with Darcy? On the other hand, Anne was heir to a great estate so talking to a man should not kill her, nor be beyond her abilities. The matron she had come to the ball with had left for a few moments for refreshment, an hour past, so Anne was quite alone, though she was in the middle of a dance hall.

In the end, Anne decided to just follow the unknown gentleman's lead, replying, "That sounds like a lot of trouble sir, so let us dispense with it. I am Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings in Kent."

With that introduction, Anne gave a little curtsey and asked, "Where exactly is Ohio, sir?"

Jane thought Mr. Bingley looked different than she remembered. In some ways, he looked like there was a shadow over his countenance, a tinge of sadness perhaps, that she thought might be related to their recent history. On the other hand, if they were in the sun, she thought at least metaphorically he would cast a stronger shadow than he had. The lightness of his countenance had been replaced with solidity. He stood straighter, smiled just a touch less, showed just a bit less emotion than before. Perhaps he had traded serenity for strength, youth for wisdom, disappointment for hope. She was not displeased with what she saw… not displeased in the least. His humor could be restored with the correct inducements.

With those observations in mind, Jane Bennet did what she did best. She gave Mr. Bingley a smile. It was time to get on with this task.

"Mr. Bingley, we both know why we are here, but may I violate the usual order of things by speaking first?"

Jane perfectly expected the utmost cordiality from Mr. Bingley, and perhaps a self‑deprecating smile as she was accustomed to, but was quite surprised to hear him laugh out loud for a moment, before getting himself under regulation.

"Of course, Miss Bennet. You may speak first any time you like…"

She nodded in acquiescence, but he was not _quite_ finished.

"… for the rest of your life."

Now she could not decide whether to be charmed or vexed by the man, so she carried on with her original plan, or what was left of it.

"Mr. Bingley, is there any point in telling you that you are in no way honor bound to me?"

Mr. Read just laughed at Anne's question, and replied in the same vein, "Where exactly is Kent?"

Anne had no idea why that question and answer was funny, but it was so she laughed a bit just like she might with Lizzy, but never before in company, and replied, "I asked first."

Mr. Read just chuckled and said, "Around 500 miles West Miss de Bourgh."

Anne answered carefully, "I see, sir. Kent is around 3,500 miles East."

With that the man broke in to a true laugh, showing the kind of good humor that her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had once displayed, but which had been somewhat absent, or at least diminished since he had spent time on the continent. Mr. Read even took to slapping his knee in his mirth, which would have given Lady Catherine an apoplexy, but Anne quite enjoyed.

Elizabeth spent some time with her muddled and confusing thoughts running around and around in her head as she enjoyed the supreme quietude of the evening, in her own company, in her own parlor, until she was not at all certain if she was enjoying her reflections or going mad. It might be that she was not as enamored with silence as she supposed.

Perhaps it was the distraction of the thoughts, or the enjoyment of the solitude that caused her to be careless. Regardless of the cause, she failed to notice a stepstool that was exactly where it had always been, exactly where it belonged, and exactly where she had avoided it a hundred times or more. Either way, when she stumbled over it she felt a brief moment of panic, then a brief moment of expectation for the fall that would happen in another second or so, which she assumed would be every bit as bad as the hundreds of falls she had experienced since she lost her sight but not her stubbornness.

Elizabeth was completely and thoroughly unprepared for the sharp flash of pain that came when her head hit a piece of furniture she did not even know was present, because she never came to that corner of the room. Her last thought before she succumbed to unconsciousness was one of screaming pain mixed with perplexity, for the sound of her head hitting the object was not what she had expected. It was not what she expected at all… not even close.

Bingley laughed again, and said something quite unexpected, "Miss Bennet, have you ever noticed the large oak tree, a mile from the parsonage right near the edge of the park?"

Somewhat taken aback by the oddness of the question, she said, "Yes, I am familiar with it."

"That is the closest I have come to breaking my word to you. I have turned my horse back at that tree thrice in the past four months. Before that, I made it halfway twice, and ten miles from Netherfield more times than I can count. I understand you have learned I am more resolute than I was, but I have to admit that staying away from you is the promise it has been hardest to keep, and I was admittedly unlikely to keep it very much longer anyway. Our meeting was inevitable."

Jane's jaw dropped in surprise. Her plan, being not much of a plan to begin with, was now laying in shambles, but she did not repent its loss. Eventually, she just decided to quit prevaricating.

Darcy shook his head at Lady Catherine's suggestion of leaving the Colonel to his father. He suspected the lady just offered it to give him an easy out should he desire it, but they both knew the Earl. He was a proud and disagreeable man, very status conscious, and altogether not very reliable. The Colonel's father would simply laugh that it all had worked out for the best, slap the Colonel on the shoulder and congratulate him on his matchmaking skills, and go on as before. Even if it had _not_ worked out for the best, Darcy thought the man would not be any more concerned about an impoverished gentlewoman than he would a laundress, and would just wash his hands of the affair. That thought left him most uneasy, because he was not at all certain he himself would have been overly concerned if Richard had done it with a woman who was not his friend.

Darcy saw no point in dragging his aunt into the upcoming very unpleasant interview, so he simply thanked her for her advice and walked down the hall to the room his cousin was locked in. Darcy was preparing to dismiss the footman on guard duty, when he heard something crashing on the other side of the door.

Mr. Read finally calmed down and asked, "Can you be more specific, Miss de Bourgh? It seems unlikely you are talking about Africa so I will tentatively rule it out, but France or Spain would not be out of the question, and that radius might even get you to Germany or Sweden."

Anne just laughed with him, though refraining from slapping her knee or any other parts of her person, and said, "England, sir. Do not pretend you did not know. Our estate is around 50 miles Southeast of London."

Mr. Read laughed along with her and said, "Shall we dance, Miss de Bourgh?"

Anne nodded her head in surprise, but replied, "Might we sit this one out Mr. Read and dance the next? I am not as robust as some, and I would like to rest a half‑hour before taking to the floor. Perhaps you could tell me something about yourself."

Mr. Read agreed to the plan immediately, and they spent the next half‑hour talking, and completely forgot to take the next dance, and the next after that.

Mr. Read, like Anne was an only child, but unlike her, he had ended up with just about no fortune to speak of. Still, he had done well for himself and Anne was impressed with his tale. They had surprisingly many things to talk about considering their vast differences in experience, and the time passed by quickly.

By the time half the company of dancers had gone off to their beds, and Anne's footmen were waiting mostly patiently for their own beds, Anne reluctantly took her leave.

Mr. Read asked, "May I call on you tomorrow, Miss de Bourgh?"

Anne answered with nothing but a big smile, which was sufficient for his purposes.

The thoughts and questions and contradictions of Elizabeth's reflections on her past and future left her head spinning in addition to the pain she was still feeling. This probably explained why she bashed what was left of her head on the bottom of the keyboard on her way up. That event, of course made more sound than you might imagine, though less than when she had hit the actual keys on the way down. This event also did not feel anywhere near as pleasant as it sounded, and it did not sound all that diverting to start with.

Elizabeth fell back to her knees and **SCREEAAAMMMEEEEDD!** She screamed for the first time in four years, the first time in as long as she could remember, the first time since she had decided in her own mind and her own heart and her own soul that she would never‑ever‑ever show weakness. The scream would have made both her mother and Lydia cower in fear and embarrassment, such was its magnitude. It might have even been enough to coerce her lazy father out of his bookroom if she was back in Longbourn. She screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed until her voice was ragged and she had nothing left.

When she finally had all the screaming she cared for, she gingerly reached out, found the pianoforte with her hands, and worked her way carefully to her knees. There was no bench, probably because the pianoforte had been in the house when Anne took the lease, and nobody bothered to move it or even notice it again. She found that the footstool that had started the whole escapade was close enough to grab without standing, and of barely sufficient height to make a not terrible bench, so she dragged it over to the instrument, climbed slowly into the seat and reached out to push a single key at random.

Jane knew her fate was sealed the moment she heard about the oak tree, and was not displeased in the least, so she decided to get on with it.

"Very well, Mr. Bingley. Since you are about to offer your hand, shall I just accept it in advance and save us both the bother. You have managed to cover the last mile this time, so let us see about the last three feet.

Nobody will ever know if she had anything else to say, or whether Mr. Bingley would ever get around to his entirely superfluous proposal that he had been rehearsing for fifty miles of good road.

Jane Bennet would always consider this her first kiss, and with the last man she would ever kiss, and it was glorious. It was everything a kiss ought to be. It was a wonderful bit of toe-curling delight, that she could not wait to repeat it. She was quite certain she would melt into the floor with the intensity of the feelings, and it was not very long before she began to wonder if she could wait another day for what was to come next.

Darcy struggled with the lock for quite some time, as it chose this specific moment to be recalcitrant. He would never know if the lock failed because he was nervously twisting and nearly breaking off the key, or because it just happened to be rotten timing, but either way, the lock took more than a moment to get open. Eventually, it gave way just before he was about to give up and work with the footman to break the door down, and he shoved it open. He then let out a shout of alarm when he saw what awaited him on the other side.

Richard Fitzwilliam, a cousin that was more like a brother, lately of his Majesty's Hussars, survivor of both Badajoz and Salamanca, had through a small amount of ingenuity, managed to make a credible noose by pulling the rope out of the bed. It was tied using the traditional hangman's noose, as neatly as if he were a professional hangman. The sound Darcy had heard was the chair he had kicked over, and the time the sticky lock took to admit Darcy's key was almost enough time to snuff out the Colonel's life… almost… but not quite.

Darcy was followed immediately by the footman who had been watching the door. Darcy ran full speed across the room to grab his cousin around the waist to receive his weight. The footman glanced up and down the hall to see if anyone had noticed, and then shut the door quietly before coming over, calmly righting the chair, and climbing up to cut the officer down with a small penknife. Darcy did not know if he wanted to shout in frustration at the delay, or offer his sincere thanks for keeping his cousin's disgrace secret; but since he could see no evidence that the delay had been harmful he kept his peace.

Darcy and the footman, who introduced himself as Mr. Barrow, then laid the Colonel on the bed, and listened carefully to see if he still lived. His breathing was ragged and uneven, but present and they both breathed a sigh of relief. The colonel might finish dying in the coming days or weeks, but it looked like he just might survive this episode.

Some indeterminate time after her fall, Elizabeth woke with a start, confused and disoriented, head hurting abominably; and to tell the truth, somewhat disappointed in herself. She had no idea whether she was more disappointed with her past or her future. The next several hours would to be spent trying to make the people she loved in America, consisting of Anne and the servants, try to get over a feeling of guilt that they would no doubt entertain for quite some time, even though she was clearly uninjured and no harm was done. She thought for a moment that since she was perfectly intact, she might even be able to simply refrain from admitting the mishap… or she might have been able to do so if she had not bled all over her best dress. The plan came crashing down when she went to brush the hair out of her face and found it sticky, and her neck coated in dried blood.

At length, Elizabeth started once again reflecting on her past, since the immediate future looked so bleak. The incident had gotten her thinking about bravery versus cowardice, and she was not impressed with the results. _When_ and _why_ had she given up on the pianoforte? _Why_ was her _head_ the only part of her body to make any music in the past four years? To tell the truth, that music had not been auspicious, _but it had been something_. She had lost one of her five senses, so why had she given up on the other four without a fight? A pianoforte had keys that made music! The keys never moved, never changed, never sniggered or criticized, never whispered, never deviated from their purpose. They were always patient, always ready, always prepared to make music for anybody with the courage to learn and sit at the instrument. Every key made the same sound it would make if she could see it.

Elizabeth Bennet had a phenomenal memory, and a good ear for music, so _why_ had she just given up on something she had enjoyed just because it got difficult? Was it because it so powerfully reminded her of what she had lost, when she had bragged so confidently to Mr. Darcy of what she had gained? Why had she conceded the field without even trying?

Barrow asked, "Mr. Darcy, are you more inclined to speed or stealth when I go for the doctor, or do you prefer to dispense with him altogether?"

Darcy, appreciating the man for the sensibility of the suggestion said, "Speed will do I believe, Mr. Barrow. I would not like to spend the rest of my life regretting our actions today. Take my horse if it helps."

Barrow bowed, and departed to fetch the doctor from Hunsford. The doctor knew how to keep his mouth closed so long as his pocketbook was open, so there would be no problems on that score. Mr. Darcy seemed a generous man and Barrow suspected he would prefer less gossip to more. He took just a moment or two to talk to a few other trusted servants to insure he could meet both objectives at once. The doctor would return to Rosings through a side door and a few corridors kept empty. Once a quiet entrance was arranged, Barrow headed off to the stables for a horse. Mr. Darcy's offer of his horse was tempting, but he decided on a comfortable old nag that he frequently used to carry messages for Lady Catherine. Barrow had no doubt that Mr. Darcy would make things right when the time came, but there was little benefit in pushing his luck.

Dr. Barnes made good time and attended Rosings within the hour, to find the Colonel in as good a condition as you might expect for a man who tried to hang himself. The rope from the bed was as effective as any other rope, and the doctor opined that the intervention had been entirely timely and almost too late.

Two hours found Barrow and two other footmen in the employ of Pemberley and sworn to secrecy. None of the men repented the change in status in the least. Lady Catherine was a much better employer since Miss Bennet had come for her brief stay, but all three men thought Mr. Darcy likely to be a better master. Mrs. Barrow was also from Derbyshire, so it would be like coming home for her.

Darcy eventually decided he needed to check on Jane and Bingley, so he left the Colonel in the charge of his three new footmen, and tried to decide what to do. He was certain he had to keep the knowledge of his cousin's actions as quiet as possible if there was to be any chance of averting a major family scandal. He spent some time wondering if Lady Catherine should be one of those to know. He owed it to her as both the mistress of the estate and a close family member to share it, but in the end, he just did not have it in him to break her heart once again. If she found out he kept his silence she would be vexed with him, but she had been vexed with him before and would be again. This might be a bigger offense than most, but he would survive it. He just could not add one more burden to his aunt's plate.

The first key Elizabeth pressed in four years was an ordinary note… middle-C as it happened, or at least it would have been if the pianoforte was not so far out of tune it would make a stone-deaf codger cringe. _It was a start._ Elizabeth tried a scale, and found that despite her complete lack of vision, the keys did not move, and her fingers remembered the motions. She could play a scale, and pretend the only thing wrong with it was the tuning of the instrument. Such excuses would not work for long, but they would do for the moment. _It was a start_.

A half‑hour or more of scales, up and down, left hand, right hand, left hand, right hand and Elizabeth was as ready as she was likely to get. She then attempted a song. It was a child's song, one she had taught her barely six‑year‑old niece Gardiner before she lost her sight. Her niece would have been appalled at both the abysmal quality of the instrument, and Elizabeth's lack of precision in her playing, but _it was a start._

For first a half‑hour, then an hour, then two then three, Elizabeth Bennet sat at the worst pianoforte she had ever heard, and did her best to reclaim just another tiny bit of her soul and her equanimity. _It was a start._

Elizabeth was quite decided that she would no longer just concede one sense because she was afraid. She _could_ and _would_ play and sing again, and she would do it with pleasure… eventually. Perhaps, some day, she might be able to follow her own advice to her sister, and she could even talk to Mr. Darcy with aplomb, or at least apologize for not allowing him to offer his redress. Of course, she would have to do it via letter written by Anne and passed stealthily through Lady Catherine, but she owed the man that much.

For the moment, Elizabeth decided to try to trade real courage for whatever had passed for it before. She sat at the pianoforte until she heard the sounds of others coming into the parlor, and quietly made her way to her room to try to clean up her head. She knew the maid Hannah would check on her nearly as soon as she entered, and hoped Hannah could bandage her head, and perhaps help her clean herself up before the rest of the house descended into panic. She knew such a plan was overly optimistic, but it was all she had.

Before leaving to check on the hopefully betrothed couple, Darcy determined he needed to get the Colonel to Pemberley as soon as possible, and get his care under the direction of his own physician. He owned a hunting lodge that would do for the task, although there was also a perfectly suitable hunting lodge a few miles away on the Rosings estate he could use as well. Darcy had no special concerns about the local Hunsford doctor, but that gentleman had not been attending the Darcy family for two generations. He thought he would be more comfortable with his own physician, which suggested Derbyshire was the best place to be.

He thought the colonel might also need a nurse for a time, but she would have to be trustworthy and silent. Richard's commanding officer might know someone who acted in the capacity, or Darcy would have to ask someone else. The less people who knew what happened the better.

Darcy thought he probably owed it to Jane Bennet to tell her the truth. As much as it would distress the lady, she was tougher than she looked, and honor demanded she know the entire story. Perhaps she would know someone trustworthy to act as nurse. He would make that decision later though, as there was no hurry to acquaint anyone with the unpleasant situation. He tried his best not to think too much if that was kindness or procrastination.

Darcy had to chuckle. After a decade in the first circles of society, with all the finest families in England, the only people outside his family he truly trusted were Bingley, three footmen he had not met that morning, and the collective eldest three Bennet sisters. The two eldest were clearly beyond reproach in every way. He also judged Mrs. Collins entirely trustworthy, but he would never burden a wife with knowing something she could not share with her husband.

Darcy knew the decisions made in anger were more likely to be wrong then right, so he thought to defer his choices about what to do about his cousin for some time. Once Jane Bennet was happily married, there was no rush to do anything. While he had been quite tempted to let his cousin finish the job, he just could not allow any man to die by his own hand. Even Wickham would not have been allowed to continue had he been the one hanging. Right or wrong, the church condemned suicides to the lowest levels of Hell, and Darcy did not think he could deliberately allow anybody that fate. If his cousin wanted to be dead so bad, he could go back to Spain or France and find a Frenchman who would be happy to do the honors.

The first step was to get him reasonably isolated and give him a chance to either calm down, or reflect on his own behavior. His cousin's actions with Miss Bennett we are so far out of the expected range of character that Darcy would not be satisfied until he understood the reason behind it; or at least could pretend that he did so.

The doctor recommended a nurse should be employed to look after the damage to the man's neck, and suggested she should be someone with some experience of life and death… perhaps a war nurse. Darcy sent an express to Fitzwilliam's commander, both requesting some additional leave, and asking if he could arrange for a nurse.

True to her expectations, Hannah came in and threw a right proper fit when she saw Elizabeth's condition. Naturally, a fit of rage for Hanna was indistinguishable from an ordinary person tut-tutting over a child's skinned knee, so Elizabeth thought she could endure it. Hanna got some warm water and rags, cleaned off all the blood, and washed the young lady's hair.

Elizabeth thought that Hannah had some kind of closer than professional relationship with one of the footmen, a Mr. McKean. Hannah left Elizabeth, made sure nobody saw them, and pulled him in for his professional opinion. The man was not a doctor, but he had been an assistant surgeon for years in the army, and he knew his way around a head wound. He enjoyed his work as Miss de Bourgh's footman immensely. Both of the young ladies he cared for were amiable and pleasant, and in the footman trade hardly anybody ever shot at him, so that was an improvement.

Mr. McKean examined the wound carefully, gave Miss Bennet some laudanum he kept convenient for emergencies, then pulled out a small needle and thread he had liberated from the army on his discharge, and set about the disagreeable task of putting a few stitches in her head. He found it quite fortunate that the wound was in her hair. It was inconvenient for stitching, but the stitches would be covered and would not require a bandage; which he judged would help prevent Miss de Bourgh from panicking. Miss Bennet was tough enough to endure it, and all would be well.

Once the stitching was done, he wrapped her head with a good bandage, agreed to return with Hannah in the morning to check the wound and make it as invisible as possible, and then went off to his own bed while Hannah helped Miss Bennet into her own.

Jane Bennet went to bed the happiest she had ever been. The unpleasantness with the Colonel was entirely forgotten, and she could not wait to write Lizzy. She was unhappy that her sister Lizzy could not stand up with her, but otherwise was very happy with the day's activities.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was wondering if all brides felt that way on their first kiss, and if so, how in the world did all the wives of the world keep the information from the maidens? She was astounded by the vastness of the conspiracy, and quite looked forward to being on the other side of the divide on the morrow.

Darcy went to bed with such a conflicted heart that he had no idea where to turn. He had always thought of himself, his cousin and Bingley as a bit of a triumvirate. Now one of them was to leave the other two behind in their bachelor state, and Darcy was for the first time in his life jealous of another man. Darcy had money, status, a great estate and all that a man could want in life. He also had great responsibilities, a broken cousin and very little chance for marital happiness… _unless_?

Darcy found other thoughts much more satisfying than focusing on his jealousy of Bingley, his anger at his cousin and his frustration with the situation. He thought that he just _might_ have a solution, but it would take time and effort.

It was time to start making plans, and Darcy went to sleep with a surprisingly light heart, given the events of the week.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam went to bed with the most intense feeling of shame. His entire week had been one shame and degradation on top of another. As if his previous behavior was not bad enough, he had turned out to be such a poor soldier that he could not even manage to finish the job with a single victim who was not resisting. He had longed to join all the dozens or maybe hundreds of men he had eased out of this life in the last several years, but in the end, he was to be a shamed man being looked at as an invalid.

Sleep was a long time coming for the Colonel, and there was not a single happy thought to break it up. Eventually, exhaustion and damage won out and he descended to a sleep filled with nightmares. This time, they were even worse than usual.

* * *

 _A/N: If you're curious about the style, it is as I said a very light version of another legend of literature. I got the idea from Joseph Heller's iconic_ _Catch-22_ _. I say it's a light version, because Heller not only mixed the story up, but he even put some of the elements out of sequence. He said it was to show the insanity of war. I just liked the idea, but being out of sequence would be just too much. I read Catch‑22 in 1974, and I'm still reeling._

 _Should get another chapter up this weekend. I thought this story would be about done by this point, but it keeps getting longer so let's see where it goes._

 _Wade_


	7. Play No Evil

_A/N: Kind of mixed reviews on the Catch-22 style of very rapid POV changes. Some really liked it and some hated it. A few of you of you asked for a separator between the switches. That would have been easy enough to do and I considered it, but I deliberately wanted to leave you feeling a little bit unsettled, so I refrained. You can decide whether that's a feature or a bug, but it was unpopular enough that I probably won't repeat that style, at least in this story, but it was interesting and diverting._

 _If it wasn't obvious, that last chapter was all happening on the same day. In a bit of a technical SNAFU (another WWII term since I am in a Catch-22 mindset), I lost most of what I'd written for Chapter 7, but no worries. It wasn't all that good anyway. So here is the newly revised next chapter._

 _I realize I'm not matching my typical relentless posting pace, but on the other hand, this is another 8k word monster, or about 3 of my usual chapters. I think I'm about 6 chapters from the end. We're back to omniscient POV for this one._

 _Wade_

* * *

 ** _"Elizabeth Bennet, what in the world happened to your head!"_**

The young lady in question wished she could have kept the more heavily bruised side of her face away from her companion for at least a few minutes, but it was obviously a fool's errand when she had no reasonable way to determine if there even was a good side. She was only happy that according to her excellent surgeon, the stitches should be mostly invisible. The man was quite correct. In fact, for a footman he could be considered a genius. The stitches fooled Anne de Bourgh for almost the 10 seconds it took her to walk two paces closer to her companion. When Anne got a good look at the cut that went along with the bruises, she threw a right fit that could almost have passed for one of her mother's.

" **Elizabeth Rose Bennet!** **Answer me this instant**! You will explain to me _exactly_ when this happened, and _precisely_ why you did not send someone to fetch me at once, and then you may elect to continue with _specifically_ why you allowed me to go to sleep being unaware of what happened under my own roof. Were you not attended last night?"

Elizabeth knew this showdown had been coming, but that did not make it any more pleasant. However, she knew she had to stand her ground in this. Even if she had been acting especially ridiculous the previous evening, she felt it was essential to her overall happiness and self‑respect that she defend her right to her own stupidity.

" **Anne! Please!** You may not blame the servants for any of this. It was all my own doing. I went to some great effort to be alone and enjoy the silence of my own thoughts for the first time since I left the crow's nest. It was my right to do so, and you may not blame anybody but me for my own doings. It may have turned out badly, but it was _my choice_."

Still halfway between hopping mad and in a blind panic, Anne asked, "And what lofty thoughts were you thinking that resulted in such damage to your person?"

Not one to be intimidated, her companion replied with a bit of heat in her own voice.

"They were not quite so lofty, and in fact they were somewhat silly, but _they were my thoughts and I am entitled to them._ "

"And how did these grandiose thoughts manifest themselves?"

 **"I had difficulty getting them out of my head, so I tried beating them out using the pianoforte."**

Naturally the end of that particular tirade left the two ladies breathing hard and staring at each other; well one staring and the other pointing in more or less the correct direction with a frown and a resolute expression on her face.

With that, Anne could no longer keep up her unpleasant demeanor and let out a good‑natured laugh, which immediately broke the tension. Anne never had managed to keep any kind of temper with her companion, and if Elizabeth could joke about the injuries, they could not be too terrible. Anne knew that Elizabeth was blind, stubborn and independent, not necessarily in that order, so this was not her first serious injury. In fact, Anne was amazed it was the first one on her watch.

"I concede defeat Elizabeth. Not only am I _not_ going to worry about your head, I am going to specifically instruct the rest of the household to ignore it. In fact, I quite believe that you got what you deserve, and my feelings are now as light as a feather, as I am happy you got your comeuppance. I intend to spend the next week at least thoroughly enjoying your misery, and poking fun at your bullheadedness at every single opportunity!"

Elizabeth joined her in laughter, quite satisfied that an entirely pointless row was not to intrude on their relationship. In truth, it was not the first time she had been injured in Anne's company. It was just the worst example.

"Anne, while the manner of my lessons was not entirely to my liking, I _did_ learn something."

"Pray enlighten me, Elizabeth!"

"That is the worst tuned pianoforte in the entire state, and possibly the entire country."

With a good-natured giggle, Anne answered, "That is because you are playing it wrong Elizabeth. _You are supposed to play it with your fingers!_ _Not your head!_ "

"I did!"

That brought Anne up quite short, as the import of the words sank in.

"You played."

"Yes! I played… very ill indeed, but I played."

Anne thought Elizabeth's mannerisms were those of a naughty schoolgirl looking at her shoes, or someone just plain embarrassed by a revelation; although Anne could not for the life of her figure out why Elizabeth needed to be embarrassed."

"And?"

"It was awful! It was wonderful! It was nothing. It was everything. It was easy. It was hard. _It was a start._ "

Anne forgot the wound in her friend's head immediately, ran over and hugged her and said, "So, you have decided to reclaim one of your senses."

"I have"

Anne squeezed Elizabeth's hand in a bit of a signal they had unconsciously adopted over the year to show happiness, since Elizabeth could not see a smile on her face, but then decided it was too subtle and grabbed her friend in an impromptu bearhug… yet another mannerism her mother would either loathe or celebrate depending on her mood.

"I presume we need to get it tuned?"

" _Please_ _!_ I sound worse than my six‑year‑old niece after a half‑hour of instruction, but at least I played. I need an excuse free household if I am to reclaim something and perhaps even advance. We shall have music again… eventually."

Anne smiled and ran out of the breakfast room to find a servant to take care of the pianoforte. On the way she saw that Elizabeth had been playing on a stool that would have been inadequate for an elf, so she decided to get a new stool while she was at it, or possibly just a new pianoforte. And of course, a master must be engaged immediately… well, perhaps after giving Elizabeth a chance to establish herself… well, nonsense… a master immediately. _Elizabeth Bennet was going to play again._ Anne thought she might happily submit herself to the auditory torture the next month or two was likely to bring. Who knew, perhaps she might subject herself to some instruction as well.

It would be wonderful to have music in the house again.

* * *

After all the excitement of the examination of head wounds, the ladies' little row over said head wounds, and the start of the project to tune the pianoforte; they went in to breakfast somewhat delayed. As was their custom, Anne prepared Lizzy's plate. The servants would have been quite happy to do so, but Anne preferred to take care of it herself for her own reasons.

Before leaving England, they had worked out some strategies that could address Elizabeth's blindness without having to acknowledge it constantly, even to themselves. Anne had a set of plates custom-made which had small indentations on the bottom of the rim, splitting the plate into thirds. Anne always put Elizabeth's food in an exact spot in the middle of each third, and then oriented the plate in a particular way so Elizabeth could know where everything was. Lizzy could simply run her finger along the base of the plate to find one of the corners, and then locate the targeted item using her fork. It was surprisingly effective for such a simple system. They had even experimented with having a silversmith make a plate with three separate compartments, but Elizabeth balked at the esthetics of the operation. Just because she could not see how the table was set did not mean she did not know what it would look like. In practical terms, the invented plate was perfect, but the new system worked just about as well without the ugliness.

Elizabeth, like many others in her situation became a creature of habit. If she had eggs, they were always hard so as to avoid any kind of mess. If she had sausage or bacon, it was always cut small enough to eat neatly. She and Anne kept a relatively constant schedule so what they had to eat on any Monday was very likely to be the same thing they ate the previous Monday. All of this just made the ordinary business of life proceed with less ambiguity, and less need for Anne to tell her what was about. Anne would not have minded in the least, but they both found this solution more comfortable, and Anne was a creature of habit herself anyway.

Elizabeth's drink was also similarly always placed in an exact spot and prepared an exact way. When Elizabeth sat down to eat she could be confident she could reach her drink easily by laying her right elbow exactly on the edge of the table, with her plate as a guide and the cup would be in just the right spot with the handle exactly where her finger needed it. Naturally, it was prepared just to her liking, and had the exact amount of liquid she was accustomed to.

Anne marveled at the system they had put together, that was so good they could probably entertain guests and it would be half the night before they realized anything was amiss. The lady had to laugh at the thought that _every dish_ was placed in a precise location for every meal of every day at Rosings, but Elizabeth was the only person she knew who actually had a practical reason for such exactitude. The precision of Rosings was either vanity, or part of Lady Catherine's strategy to employ a half‑dozen more servants at Rosings than were really needed. Anne had always suspected the former, but recent letters had led her to believe her mother may have hidden depths, and the latter might actually be the case, thought her mother would _never_ admit it. Perhaps she was being kind‑hearted in her own way. It was not her way to give charity beyond what others in her station gave, but having extra footmen or maids was just good management, was it not?

Like nearly anybody who lived in close quarters with a blind person they loved, the ladies had worked out hundreds of little adjustments to how they lived their lives to make Lizzy's blindness less of an issue. Elizabeth's tumble over the step stool the previous night had been quite the anomaly, because the ladies kept their houses almost entirely free of dangerous furniture. You could not completely do without footstools, but there was not a single piece of furniture that did not serve a useful purpose; nor was a single piece of furniture ever allowed to deviate from the place where it belonged, even temporarily. Elizabeth would memorize the positions of everything and avoid things quite automatically, and it had been some time since her last stumble. Her inattentiveness the previous evening had been her downfall, not a failure of their system.

In yet another break from her mother's custom, Anne had long ago invited Mr. Hopkinson to take meals with them. Naturally, this was not mentioned to her mother either. This was not a terribly big break from tradition, as Mr. Hopkinson's status was somewhere between that of servant and that of family. He was probably more analogous to a companion than anything else. Anne invited him initially just so that he would be available to read things to Elizabeth if necessary, or take down any words of wisdom she felt like talking about over meals. After a while, the ladies began to feel he was akin to a missing grandfather, they began to invite him just to have his company, until it became a longstanding custom.

As the threesome sat down to their meal, one of the footmen brought in the day's post. Glancing over the letters, Anne picked one up immediately and opened it anxiously.

"Lizzy, this is a letter from Captain Jamison!"

"What does it say?"

Anne scanned the note quickly, her face frowning more and more as she read, while Elizabeth did her best not to jump up and down in her seat in an all-too-accurate impersonation of Lydia. Knowing how impatient Lizzy was, Anne stopped less than halfway through and started reading from the beginning.

* * *

 _12 Aug 1812_

 _Dear Miss de Bourgh and Miss Bennet,_

 _It distresses me greatly to inform you that I shall not be able to deliver you safely back to England. I offer my sincerest apologies, but it is simply impossible, and unlikely for any other captain with any sense._

 _As you know, in a blinding bit of irrationality, the United States recently declared war on Great Britain. We have been hearing rumbles about debates in the Senate about war for some time, but most of us dismissed such rumors, as there are always rumors of war. A certain class of politician thrives on that sort of thing, and Washington is a perfect place to gather such like‑minded individuals together. The declaration of war will have caught the British government quite by surprise, as it caught nearly everyone, but nevertheless, Britain is quite prepared for war and will prosecute it with vigor._

 _In practical terms, this makes it nearly impossible for a rational sea captain to trade with the United States, except in cases where they are willing to take highly profitable cargo with the attendant risks. British ships have blockaded all major American seaports, and all traffic is subject to the vagaries of the British Navy at war. While His Majesty's government still actively encourages trade between the belligerent countries, the war has made it risky to do so. There are numerous Letters of Marque issued which give sea captains and even privateers large rewards for capturing or sinking 'enemy' ships, and some of the captains take quite a liberal view of who is classified as an enemy._

 _The Navy has also been impressing men into 'service' at a prodigious rate, so even if a captain has been left with his ship and cargo intact, neither of which is guaranteed, he is likely to lose a goodly portion of his crew._

 _To add insult to injury, should I happen to get through the British blockades to enter your harbor, I would then face the American Navy. It has only two dozen ships to Britain's 800, but they are faster, tougher and more aggressive in this climate, and of course there are American privateers looking for quick profit as well. The privateers are little different than authorized pirates._

 _Should I accomplish all this, then of course, I would have to do the same thing in reverse._

 _Perhaps all this sounds a bit self-serving, but you are both intelligent women and I believe I owe you a good explanation. While it would be my honor to take you back home safely, I cannot risk my ship, my crew or my family to do so. I am sorry ladies, but it just cannot be done._

 _You are probably reasonably safe where you are for a time, but if the war drags on for very long you may want to consider getting away to a somewhat less hostile region. If you could make your way overland to the Canadas, you could most likely safely catch a British ship from one of the ports, but there is an open question about whether you would have trouble crossing the border or not. Ask around very carefully before you engage in such a scheme, as there is a good chance the Americans will be guarding the border with some hostility. There also seems some chance the Americans will try to seize all or part of the Canadas, as that would be an obvious goal for such a ridiculous war. If you could get to the Canadas, I believe there will be a lot of traffic, and there is a better than even chance with your connections you could even get onto a Navy ship._

 _You might also choose to ride out the war somewhere to the West with more comfort than your present location. New York is a bustling city, right in the forefront of the calls to arms, and bad things can happen. I do not believe you to be in any acute danger, but anti-British sentiment will increase as the war continues and I would dislike having you caught in the middle. It might be better to settle yourselves quietly in a smaller town somewhere to the West. That is the advice I would give my daughters should they be in your position, but I do not know the climate where you are so do anything with great care._

 _My deepest apologies and best wishes,_

 _Captain Elijah_ Jamison

* * *

 _"Well, that is not ideal."_

Anne snorted at Lizzy's characteristically impertinent response, and replied, "Well, it looks like we are to be Americans for a bit longer. It may not be all bad."

"How so, Anne? I mean… I am quite happy to remain here for a time, but your tone of voice implies you might not be in such a hurry to return home as you were a week ago. Has something changed?"

Anne never quite got the chance to answer, as their butler entered the room to announce a visitor.

"Mr. George Read, ma'am"

"Please give us a few minutes and then bring him to the drawing room."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lizzy looked over at the spot where she presumed Anne sat, and asked, " **Mr. Read?** "

Fortunately for her equanimity, Elizabeth could not see Anne's deep blush, but unfortunately, the lady could perfectly well assume it.

"Come clean, Anne. Who exactly is Mr. Read?"

"A gentleman I met last night. He… he… he asked me to dance, Lizzy. He singled me out even without having you there as bait."

As intended, Elizabeth laughed at the jest, but she was not to be dissuaded from her purpose.

"Actually, we never quite got around to dancing. I asked to sit out one, and he sat with me for the next…"

Very softly, Lizzy asked, "The next…"

Somewhat sheepishly, Anne squeaked, "… the next three hours?"

Elizabeth laughed at that, and jumped up to dance around the room… or as far around the rooms as she could without tripping over something and bashing her head again, which amounted to a small circle around her chair. Mr. Hopkinson was grinning from ear to ear, and even the footman and maid who had entered to clear up the breakfast things could not resist a hearty laugh.

"Well, by all means, let us go and meet this Mr. Read."

* * *

"Mr. George Read, ma'am"

Both ladies stood to greet the gentleman. In yet another signal they had worked out over the months, they stood close enough together that Anne could give subtle signals to her friend. In this case, a light graze across the back of Lizzy's hand with two knuckles was enough for the two ladies to execute perfectly synchronized curtsies, which never failed to impress the easily captivated.

Mr. Read was not in fact easily impressed by empty showmanship, but he was impressed by signs of a close and loving relationship between the two ladies who by Miss de Bourgh's account had only met a year ago. As far as he could tell, if they had been introduced as the very most loving of sisters, he would have believed them.

"Mr. Read, welcome to our home."

Mr. Read very much enjoyed the greeting, as well as the inclusiveness.

"Mr. Read, may I please acquaint you with my dearest friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and my other good friend, Mr. Eldridge Hopkinson."

Read could see that Mr. Hopkinson would not pass muster as a 'gentleman' in England, but here he would do just fine. In fact…

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Hopkinson. Miss Bennet, _I have heard a great deal about you and none of it is exaggerated, I can assure you."_

Elizabeth laughed at that, and replied.

"Yes, I assume Anne mentioned a battered and bruised companion. She is always quite precise that way."

The gentleman joined both ladies in a good laugh. He was happy to see that they were not afraid to laugh. The twittering simpering giggles that some English girls exhibited set his teeth on edge.

The gentleman eventually answered, "She seems to have neglected one or two points in her description."

Anne… he had to admit that the lady he had a tough time thinking of as anything but 'Anne', had in fact omitted the salient detail that her friend was _blind_. There had been a great deal of discussion about Miss Bennet, but that particular fact had not even been brought up. He thought that some might consider that a bad sign… a lady you had just met omitting such an important detail about someone in their household, but he did not hold to that view. As far as he could tell, Anne just considered it unimportant, which was much to her credit.

The two ladies and one gentleman sat down in the parlor in the usual expected places. Being quite observant himself, Mr. Read noticed a few of the signs they used. It took only the slightest brush of her hand to have Miss Bennet and Miss de Bourgh seated simultaneously next to each other. Miss Bennet seemed a very knowledgeable woman, who could thoroughly dominate a conversation if she chose to, but she did not so choose. She participated, listening carefully to all that went on; although he suspected she listened to him more carefully than to Anne. He wondered if it was true that the blind could hear more, or ring more meaning out of what was said than others, but that would have to be a conversation for another day.

"What brings you from Ohio to New York, Mr. Read", asked Miss Bennet after they had some tea and some basic pleasantry had been seen to.

Mr. Read watched Miss de Bourgh carefully. They had touched on this and a few other subjects lightly the night before but he had been so fascinated with her tales of England that he had not gone into it in any depth.

"A canal, Miss Bennet. I am the quintessential American Story. I am an only child, left with no real fortune, but I have my wits about me and I have made a reasonable success moving things from people that have them to those that want them. I would like to improve that process to my own profit and that of my neighbors, so I am here to try to help get a grand canal built."

He watched for the telltale sign that one might see in many of the English upper classes that he had done business with on multiple occasions that they considered 'trade' beneath them, despite the fact that they would not even be talking to him if they were not already engaged in it themselves. There were few people more able to turn a blind eye on their own foibles and inconsistencies than the English gentry, but his observations were for naught. Nether of the ladies seemed to think there was the slightest bit of stench to trade. In fact, they both looked fascinated.

Miss Bennet in particular, looked like one of the bears he once seen in the Canadas, pouncing on a fish in a stream. She wanted to know all about his business, and he suspected by that she meant _all_ of his business.

"There is a proposal to build a great canal from New York to Ohio. It would be 300 miles or so with several locks, much like your Brightwater canal in England. I want to help build one here."

Now the ladies, leaned forward in their chairs eager for details, and he cautiously began a tale of intrigue and politics and payoffs and winners and losers and elevations and drainage and locks and waterways and economics.

"Ohio grows a great deal of grain. Grain is heavy, and difficult to move which makes it expensive, so a good deal of it gets made into whiskey, which is less profitable and heavily taxed, but easier to move. I want to help transport it to the cities like this one that need bread to engage in trade of all sorts of goods. I also believe my neighbors might engage in all types of industries if they could get the goods to market. I want to do my part to build this nation. It is a mercantile nation, founded on trade and industry, especially here in the North and trade requires things to be moved. We want to build an artificial river, ladies… or at least a stream."

Elizabeth was wildly fascinated, and Anne was fairly interested although an hour into it, both ladies could not be torn away from the discussion. It seemed that Mr. Read was a man of significant ambitions. The canal could be the making or breaking of an entire territory. The increased trade alone might be enough to drive the place towards statehood, and he was there right in the beginning. His dreams were big. First move the considerable bounty of the fields, and then follow with some of the new manufactories and mills that were starting to change the world.

After a time, Anne said, "Since you are such a non-stickler on propriety, would you consider staying for luncheon, Mr. Read?"

All three laughed, and Mr. Read watched both ladies carefully while accepting their invitation. A bell chord was pulled and a footman came to organize the meal, while the three carried on their conversation. They had been joined by Mr. Hopkinson some time ago, and he turned out to have certain knowledge that might be useful.

"Mr. Read, I apologize I missed the first part of your discussion. There was a crisis involving a pianoforte, and apparently damage to ears matching Lizzy's damage to her head."

Mr. Read sounded puzzled, until Mr. Hopkinson surprised everyone by walking over to the pianoforte and played a simple tune. He played it correctly, but the sound that came out of the box would have put a cat off a mouse.

Mr. Read just laughed and replied, "Crisis, indeed. The world in general, and particularly every dog in the neighborhood will thank you Mr. Hopkinson. I can see why Miss Bennet was so offended she decided to try to destroy the instrument with her head.

The two men laughed good naturedly, and Mr. Hopkins carried on, "My son actually worked for a time both building and running the Brightwater canal in England. I learned a few things about canals."

Mr. Read took that news with eager interest, as did the ladies and they carried on for quite some time, trying their best to drag every salient detail out that Mr. Hopkinson could remember.

Mr. Read did in fact stay for luncheon, and retired with the ladies back to the parlor after they were done, apparently thoroughly confused about the length of time for a polite visit; which did not distress anybody. Mr. Hopkinson left them together to deal with the pianoforte and a few other duties, promising to talk to Mr. Read another time about any details they may have missed.

After his departure, Elizabeth said, "So I see you are most interested in the canal. Is that what brought you to town, sir? Did you have some specific task to accomplish that will help advance this dream?"

Mr. Read looked at her carefully, and noticed Anne was looking at the lady carefully as well. He also noticed Miss Bennet listening with a different expression than she had been while they idly talked about canals. She had unconsciously turned her head at an angle, he assumed to give her ears a better chance of hearing him, and he suspected this was an important question. There was little doubt that Miss Elizabeth's opinion mattered in this House, and he also suspected the lady would be _very_ difficult to fool. She seemed someone that had her wits about her far more than any others of his acquaintance. Fortunately, he had no intention of engaging in such a foolhardy venture, so he thought to just use his customary American bluntness.

"I _originally_ came to town with the express intent of helping move this project along, thus establishing the fortunes of myself and many others. There are political factors at work, and I have some small skill in the arena."

His emphasis on the word ' _originally'_ was barely a whisper above the normal tone of his discourse, but it was quite noticeable to Miss Bennet.

" _Originally,_ Sir?"

With a smile, he replied.

"Since coming to town, I have become aware of certain… _other_ goals."

"Might you elaborate, Sir?"

This was Miss de Bourgh asking this time, so he gave her his full attention.

"Now, I find I am in want of a wife."

He saw the animated face on Miss de Bourgh drop about as much as it might have if he casually mentioned he was in search of an economical mistress.

The lady asked somewhat timidly, "Well, do not let us delay you sir. You should be courting."

It pained him to realize that he had not been as clear as he liked, even with his customary bluntness, so the man set out to set the record straight.

" _I am courting, Miss de Bourgh_ _!_ I am courting right now, and have been every moment since I became aware of my lack. Can you be unaware of it?"

Now there was not the slightest doubt. A glance at Miss Bennet showed her to be listening as intently as it was possible to listen, and he could see that Miss de Bourgh might just panic and jump to the conclusion that he was courting Miss Elizabeth. She had the look of a lady who did not expect a man to be courting her… as if the very idea were foreign to her. Of course, courting Miss Bennet would be a fine idea, and in fact the best idea in the world, _for the right man_. Mr. George Read was not that man, or at least he had not been for the past twelve hours.

Bidding all semblance of propriety or good manners a fond goodbye, Mr. Read surprised both ladies by sliding from his chair and landing on his knees, exactly in the middle between the two so they formed the points of a triangle. He further compounded the sin by reaching over to take _both ladies' hands_ in his own, and hoped like crazy they would hear him out.

"Let me be clear ladies. I am courting **_you_** _,_ _Miss de Bourgh_ , and I am courting _your good opinion_ , Miss Bennet as I know that none of my desires will prevail without it."

Anne sat in stunned silence, while Elizabeth sat in careful silence, listening for the slightest hint of dishonesty.

"I know this is sudden, and you could in no way have decided anything in a few hours acquaintance, but know that I am resolute and my intentions are honorable."

Giving both hands a gentle squeeze, he continued, "I am not after your fortune, Anne. If I were you, I would be watching for fortune hunters with every new acquaintance, but I do not need it. Our laws here are as barbaric as they are in England so should we wed I would have control over any fortune you might bring, but I would hope you trust me to understand that is _your fortune, not mine._ In fact, I would be happy to tie it up in a trust or a settlement to keep it to pass it onto our children intact. I do not want your fortune. I want you!"

" _Why?_ "

He wondered if he could manage to distill all the thoughts and feelings of the last day to a few words, and decided he must make a go of it.

"It is partly just a matter of _faith_. I felt like you were the missing puzzle piece that would complete me the moment I laid eyes on you. I have no idea how I found the initial attraction, but I did, and even stranger, I sucked up my courage and pursued it. I believe you will complete me, and I believe it strongly enough to wager both our lives on it."

"After less than four and twenty hours?"

This was a question he could handle.

"Not necessarily. I came here to court you, not propose… not today anyway. We need some time to get to know one another. I have business in New York for about the next six weeks before I must return to my business in Ohio. Let us use that time to learn if we suit one another. If we do, you may expect an offer."

"Do you always move so quickly, Mr. Read?", asked Miss Bennet.

Mr. Read was under no illusions. He needed this lady's goodwill to succeed in his suit, but he felt like it was something he needed to earn for its own merit. Elizabeth was also a woman he would very much like to have as a part of his life going forward. Aside from already feeling she was a sister he never had, he suspected hidden talents that would be very good for all involved if properly channeled. Her schools were the prime example of what she was capable of. Perhaps she might educate every child in Ohio! Why dream small?

Drawing a deep breath while fortifying himself for the address, he continued.

"I usually do things very carefully Miss Bennet, and this is the most extreme action I have ever taken. If Miss de Bourgh had not mentioned your imminent departure for England, I would have acted much more decorously, but I was not willing to chance having you leave without pleading my case. Sometimes in business, you have to make a decision and live with it. You always have to see opportunities other men might miss and take advantage. However, you must temper that aggressiveness with prudence. I am offering courtship because it is prudent, and it shows the respect a lady is due. I could have it no other way, but make no mistake of my intentions."

Anne asked, "Are you saying that you would make me an offer today, but you are offering courtship out of courtesy and respect?"

Here the man stood on the precipice. It was true he had moved things along headlong in a rush, and he had a hard time explaining _why_ , but he could not regret the decision. His heart was fully engaged, and he may as well just drag his head along for the ride.

"Yes, that is what I am about, Miss de Bourgh. It is my intention to make you my wife, but I wish no regrets or misunderstandings along the way. Should my suit be successful we will have many years together, so a few weeks in the beginning will not matter."

Elizabeth had been listening carefully, both to what was said, and more importantly what was _not said_ , and _the way_ in which it was said. She did not have supernatural powers, but at the moment, she felt like she trusted the man.

Anne surprised both with her next assertion.

"Mr. Read, before you go any further, I need to point something out to you."

"Yes"

Elizabeth could feel Anne's nervousness through their legs which had been touching the entire time and were twitching abominably, even if she had not been able to hear it in her voice. Anne was both distressed by what she planned to say, but resolute in her determination to get it out.

"I am… unhealthy, Sir. I am not at all certain I _can_ bear a child."

Now Elizabeth could tell Anne was staring at her shoes, and probably blushing furiously.

"I have been pale and sickly all my life, Sir. Elizabeth has brought me out of that this last year, but I am not at all certain of my recovery. I was feeling bad enough a fortnight ago to return home, fearing the end was coming."

Elizabeth gasped in consternation, both at the sentiment, and the fact that Anne had withheld this from her. She was somewhat distressed at Anne's secret, but a bit proud of her friend for her ability to pull it off. It was difficult to fool Elizabeth Bennet on a regular basis.

All three took a collective breath, and Anne continued.

"It is true that I am heir to a sizable fortune, Mr. Read, but it is really the estate that is the biggest part of the fortune, and I will not take anything from it but my dowry. I could not bring most of what I own to a marriage. Even if I could, it would not be fair to the estate. If I stay here, I will not be penniless, but neither will I bring an enormous boon. My mother must be able to pass the estate to someone else, and it must be passed whole and complete."

 **"Thank goodness!"**

Both ladies gasped at the unexpected outburst from the gentleman.

Mr. Read hurried to explain, "Ladies, you see… us men have our pride, and I would find my wife bringing a large fortune to be a detriment to mine. I want my wife to bring love, companionship, intelligence, conversation and the ability to help us build _our own fortune_. If I start with a large fortune that was not earned, the opportunity is lost, do you not see?"

Neither lady had ever given any thought to lack of fortune being anything save a drawback, but if one was after true love and felicity in a marriage, you could see his point, even if you could not agree with it. Elizabeth for the first time wondered how difficult it might be to find true friendship or esteem with the weight of an estate and a large fortune hung around your neck dragging you down.

"And my health?", Anne asked with a quavering voice that indicated in Elizabeth's opinion that her heart was fully engaged, but she was desperately grasping at straws that would allow her to retain her self-image she had built up over all these years.

"Do you have a definitive diagnosis of something fatal, Miss de Bourgh? Perhaps consumption, cancer, blood disease, a bad heart or something of that nature?"

"No, I just know I am unwell."

At this point, Mr. Read had wisely let go of Elizabeth's hand some time past and was on his knees, entirely too close to Anne for propriety or even for what a married couple should do in public, but neither of them had noticed.

"And I must ask it, my lovely Anne, _do you want children?_ You know every woman gambles her life every time she brings a new child into the world, but perhaps your health would make the risk even bigger than usual. _Do you want a child… truly want a child… enough to take the chance? I could not bear it if you did so to make me happy._ "

He was staring at her so intently that there was no need for her to make the slightest answer. He could see the expression roll across her face, first hope, then hopelessness, then fear, then desperation and then… finally resolution. He thought she may have come to a decision.

"Yes, I want my own children. I never thought it possible so I never had to think about it, but I find that yes, I am willing to take my chances with the rest of the wives of the world. I have spent years trying to convince myself it was impossible, but I now see I was just trying to protect myself from disappointment. If you are willing to risk your future heirs on such a frail vessel as myself, I might take the chance with you."

Earnestly, speaking to both ladies, Mr. Read continued.

"I have seen man scarred and nearly destroyed by battle, ladies. I have seen one man sitting next to another, both near to death, and then come back to look at each some time later to find the sicker looking man is now hale and hearty, while the less ill has succumbed. Perhaps I overly simplify things, but I believe the thing that makes some survive and thrive while others falter is _purpose_. Family, love, charity, duty, ambition, pride… it matters not what drives someone to _strive_ , just that they do it. If you come with me to Ohio, we will build something grand… together."

Anne sighed, and said, "Was all this not supposed to come at the end of the courtship?"

Mr. Read just laughed and said, "A very good point. I had planned a slow and careful courtship, but it seems Miss Bennet has brought me to the point much sooner; and I find I am happy with her insistence. I feel that I must do things properly, so let us begin.

Anne held up the hand he was not holding, to stop him.

"Mr. Read, I will beg you to hold the question that is on the tip of your tongue for a moment, Sir. I shall be happy to hear that question… in six weeks' time."

The gentleman's face fell a bit, and Anne caught his eyes with a fearsome grip, and made sure that he was with pain careful attention to what she said, and not falling into despair.

"You must understand, Sir. I have led a life of quiet desperation. For much of my life I never knew if I would survive the week, or the month or the year. For much of my life, I was not even certain whether my own mother actually loved me, or tended me out of duty. I now know that she does, but the matter was uncertain for some time. You see sitting beside me the only person in the world whom I have always had complete faith knew me and loved me, warts and all."

Mr. Read nodded in acknowledgment, well aware that he was being told things of a very personal nature that were very significant. A glance at Miss Bennett saw that she was paying absolute careful attention to everything being said as well, and her countenance betrayed a touch of sadness at what Miss de Bourgh was saying, but not any particular surprise.

"I can assure you Sir, that it is taking every ounce of self-discipline I have to ask you to continue with your courtship as you offered, and to ask your question in the proper time and place. I would very much like to be certain that we both are making the right decision. You are quite certainly the best man I have ever met, and it would kill me to believe that I chained you to a life of misery simply because you are the first man to really pay me any attention. If our affections are strong insurer, they will survive a six-week courtship strengthened rather than diminished. At that time, we can make a decision based on true understanding of one another."

Although the gentleman had now given free reign to his heart, and considered his own decision to be fixed and irrevocable, he did agree that her idea was sound.

"I shall happily exceed your request, Miss de Bourgh. Every couple deserves a courtship, and while it is entirely possible and in fact admirable to have a proper courtship even after marriage, I would not wish to rush things. Let us do as you say, that we may be happy that we have done things properly."

He was very happy to see the look on both ladies faces. His lady had a combination of happiness, insecurity and longing that he was happy to see; and he was quite certain things would work out as they should, in their own good time.

He had one other piece of business he felt needed to be taken care of.

"Miss Bennett, perhaps I am rushing myself a little bit; but should things work out as we all hopefully will, it would be my privilege to offer you and open invitation to reside in my home as long as you like, be it a week or forever. I realize that the offer is redundant so long as you have Miss de Bourgh's good graces, but I wish to make absolutely certain that you understand how welcome you will always be."

Both ladies smiled shyly, and for the most part everybody was content with the plan. Six weeks would be more than enough time for them to get to know one another, and there was generally little doubt about what the outcome would be.

Elizabeth was generally impressed with what she had seen so far, but she was also aware that she had so far spent only a few hours in the man's company. She would know more after she had spent more time with him, but since she was not the one marrying him, her opinions would be in an advisory capacity at most. She was not even entirely certain that she would offer that much advice. Anne was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

Mr. Read climbed up from his knees… well, truth be told he was not a young buck anymore, so while he tried to stand up gracefully, he in fact collapsed on his side. A bit of scrambling put him back to rights while the ladies enjoyed a good laugh at his expense… as things should be. Mr. Read thought he would be happy to be ridiculous for these ladies any time it was required, and ultimately the triumvirate was back on their feet, ready to take some refreshments, and decide on their future for the next six weeks.

At least for the moment, and perhaps forever, it seemed that the two ladies were to be Americans.


	8. Nurse No Evil

_A/N: A bit of panic over the long delay for the last chapter, so I'll ease your mind with one more. My pace is actually about typical for this site, but it seems glacial compared to my usual._

 _I see people being a bit distressed by lack of ODC interactions, and am of two minds about that. I don't like to give spoilers, but also don't like people to be too distressed. If you just have to know, I will give a couple of clues in an A/N at the bottom of the story._

 _Wade_

* * *

 **Tired!** That's what I was: tired! Bone dead, soul crushingly tired! I truly wanted nothing more than to go back to my father's house, go to bed for a day or a month, and hope to recover some strength and perspective on all the things I had seen in the past year.

It had appeared as such a sensible idea at the time. There was a war on and I was both seven and twenty years old, and very close to being considered on the shelf. What a horrid term that was, but I could hear the whispers that every assembly, every supper, every gathering of any kind. I was in a town were even the jewels of the county remained unmarried and my chances of domestic felicity seemed ever thinner by the week.

I was sitting one day, listening to my silly younger sister blather on about something or other when my brother came back for a visit from University. I could see the look in his eyes as he looked around the parlor. Some may consider this pessimistic, but I thought I could detect a look of pending distress. I was looking at years and years of sitting in this parlor doing absolutely nothing, while he was seeing the same thing with no more enthusiasm than I had. Naturally, he was my brother and was to inherit everything so he would be honor bound to take care of me, but was that anything to aspire to? Did I truly wish to spend the rest of my years teaching his wife's 10 children how to embroider?

In a flash of what could be called insight or perhaps insanity, I had an idea that the problem and the solution might be one and the same. I was unmarried because too many of the local men, both gentlemen and tradesmen, had been called off to fight the madman in France. Many of those same boys were coming back in pieces, or not at all, neither of which was of any use to me. However, they were doing their duty while I was sitting here doing nothing… absolutely nothing!

Once the idea occurred, there was really no stopping me. I was always thought to be quite "sensible", which mostly was treated as a synonym for 'accommodating' or 'invisible'. For the moment though, I thought I would take the playbook from some of the less appealing young ladies of the county, and I started working on my father and my brother to bend them to my will. My brother was easy enough to work on, my father took several weeks before my plan was finally allowed to come to fruition, and I was reluctantly sent on my way.

I had been at my duties for just over a year, on that blisteringly hot day in late August when I was finally tired enough, that I decided it was worth going home for a month. I was not noticeably richer in fortune than I had been when I left, though I did consider myself much richer in character and experience. With little coin to spare, my options were to continue my current duties or go home. I had not seen my mother or father in quite some time, so home it was to be… for a time. It was hard to imagine going back to sitting around the drawing room all day, so I was dubious about the long-term viability of that plan, but a short rest had some appeal.

The year started simple enough. My interview with the Sister went well, and I was soon assigned to the relatively simple tasks allowed to a beginner. I would bring water or food to wounded soldiers, or occasionally sit and read to them, help them with their letters, adjust their bedding or otherwise try to see to their comfort. Some of the men in the lower ranks could not even read or write, so I would write to their families on their behalf, and read the responses.

Gradually, I learned how to change bandages, and thence to change more difficult bandages, and then on to more difficult tasks. Sometimes the nurses would have to cajole a man onto his feet when he just wanted to rest but had to be up and about. Sometimes we would bathe a fever in wet rags, even though we could see very little result for our efforts. Sometimes we acted as maids, changing sheets, dumping chamber pots and cleaning up around a bed. Every day there was something new, and I determined there was no task suitable for _any_ nurse that I would avoid.

Gradually, my duties increased along with my experience and my resilience. I eventually learned, much to my dismay, how to sit holding a man's hand while his life bled out around me. I learned how to be a man's wife or mother or sister if he was burning up with fever and nothing but a beloved voice would calm him down. I learned all the ins and outs of pain and death, but also the ins and outs of brotherly love and affection that was on display all around me every day.

After a time, I became known as someone who was sensible, but that word carried a very different connotation. In an Army hospital, it meant somebody with a strong constitution and a willingness to do anything to help the boys and men under her charge, and I must admit to a feeling of pride in _this_ flavor of _sensibility_. If the doctors needed somebody to calmly talk to a man while a surgeon hacked his leg off with a bone saw, I was considered eminently suitable. Need somebody talk to a man who had no hope whatsoever of surviving, just to make his last few hours on this earth bearable… it was of no difficulty for me. Need someone to scream at a man like a cross between a badger, an angry mother and a hostile nanny to get him out of bed and onto his feet, and you could do worse than me.

Day by day, I continued doing my work, just like the other sisters around me. And just like them, eventually found a point where I needed to rest. I had by that time lasted very much longer than most of the gentlewomen who came in to volunteer for the duty. They were usually just as desperate as I was, but most of them were not quite as resolute, or as stubborn. Many ladies would last for hours or days and then disappear, but among those of us who stayed, a sisterhood was made that was quite appealing.

Finally, though, I came to the point where I needed a short rest. The ladies who did this as their life's work took care to not be in the thick of things _all_ the time, but I had shown no such restraint. I needed a rest, and then thought I was likely to go right back to the most rewarding but difficult thing I had ever done.

Decision made, I acted with the alacrity I now used for every action and applied for leave. It was naturally granted, especially when I indicated that I planned to come back… although the look in the eyes of the head sister led me to believe she was skeptical about that. I'm sure she heard it many times before, but she was grateful for my service to date, so would have no room to complain; even if it should occur to her, which it would not. She was the woman I measured all other women against, and hoped to one day emulate.

My trunk was all packed, and I was taking my leave of some of my colleagues, and some of the soldiers who were in for treatment that day, when I got the most unusual summons from a private.

 _"The general wishes to see me?!"_

"Yes, ma'am"

"General Smyth?"

"Yes, ma'am"

"He wishes to see me?"

By now, I suspected the private who was delivering the message was beginning to believe that I might not be quite as sensible as my reputation indicated. However, being the man who delivered the general's notices, I suspected as well that very little would really surprise him. He had a little half smirk on his face which led me to believe he was probably enjoying my discomfiture, but I also judged that it was not a malicious smile. He was simply having a bit of levity about the situation, not really at my expense.

Wondering what in the world a general could possibly want with the likes of me, I followed the private immediately, and entered the general's office. I was slightly surprised to see a young maid, dressed in a uniform that was much better-than-average enter immediately behind me. I imagined the general was probably worried about propriety, as if there could be any such thing at a military hospital. I wondered if he kept a maid around just for that purpose, and if so why he had a maid that was dressed particularly well, but I did not have long to ponder as the general was not a man to waste time.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Lucas."

I gave the general a curtsy, and he gave me a belated bow. I suspected he was much more used to giving salutes than bows, but he seemed to rally well enough.

"How may I assist you, General?"

The general took me over to a set of chairs in the far corner of the office, while indicating with his eyes that the young maid was to place yourself over in a chair in the other corner, too far away to really hear us. I had no idea whether this was a good thing or bad.

The general did not seem to be a man who liked to waste a lot of time in civilities, so he got right down to business.

"Miss Lucas, I realize that you have requested and been granted leave, but I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a favor?"

"A favor, General?"

I was beginning to wonder when I had become incapable of carrying a simple conversation, but I though the general would say whatever he needed to say whether I filled the space with blather or not.

"You are on your way to visit your father's house in Hertfordshire, are you not?"

He seemed to have decided to veer off toward civility, which I was not entirely convinced was such a good idea. Whatever his favor was, I wanted to know and be done with it. There was virtually no chance that I would decline any favor the general deigned to ask, but it would be nice to know what type of trap I was walking into.

"Yes sir, I am to take a small leave but I will be back in a month."

He looked as skeptical as the sister had, but managed to hold his tongue.

"Would you consider it impertinent for me to ask how you came to be in service here, Miss Lucas?"

I did in fact consider it quite impertinent, bordering on rude, but I had learned to obey orders, just like the men I treated, so it never occurred to me to answer with anything less than the complete truth. I had to admit, that that was one thing I liked about being in this environment. When men were dying around you, nobody seemed to bother with trivialities. I had to reckon I would probably find the rules of propriety to be somewhat stifling when I got back to my father's house, and I thought I might very well make a life back here in this hospital after it drove me mad for a month, or maybe even just a fortnight.

"You are obviously aware of what life is like in small-market towns, General. We are expected to marry, but as you can clearly see that particular plan is not worked out all that well for me."

The general looked a bit perplexed, and asked, "Why ever not?"

"Because I live in a small market town General. There were only around twenty families of the gentry, and I was expected to marry within my class. Unfortunately, of the twenty families, there were several that had uncommonly pretty daughters, and several had better dowries than me. You need not pretend I am anything other than a plain ordinary woman with a small dowry, so my status should come as no surprise to you, Sir."

The man just grunted in either amusement or deprecation… It was hard to tell with the General. Then he asked the oddest question.

"Would you object to a Colonel or Major, Miss Lucas?"

"For what, General?"

"For a husband, of course!"

To tell the truth, the question had never even occurred to me, so I found myself unable to answer it.

Once he was moving, the general just rolled over all opposition, so he did not give me any chance to consider the question on my own.

"You would not be well-off, and I will not claim that the life of a military wife is ideal, but you could be reasonably comfortable, and at that rank the chances of your husband dying in battle are not so bad. Most could afford a reasonable establishment, but not luxurious by any means."

If that was his idea of wooing me, he was sadly mistaken, but I saw the wedding band on his finger so I knew he was not talking about himself. I imagined his wife might have something entirely different to say about the matter, but it seemed unlikely I would be able to have any conversation with her, so I just had to work it out on my own. Was the general just a busybody, or did he have some purpose with his question?

I gave it some thought while the general waited surprisingly patiently, and replied, "It never occurred to me General, but I would not disdain such a life. All I have ever wanted is my own establishment with a respectable man. One of your Colonels would probably work as well as another, but I have never really been put in a situation to entertain such an idea."

The general chuckled a little bit, and said, "Remember the parable of the forest and the trees, Miss Lucas."

I really had no idea what to say to any of that, so I simply gave him a little shrug, and he moved on to the next topic, apparently satisfied that he had planted whatever idea he set out to.

"So back to the favor, Miss Lucas. Actually, I would like to request a favor of you, that you are in no way obligated to accept. Do not take this is a bargain requiring acceptance of the entire package, but I was also like to offer you some advice, and also offer to to do a small favor for you, should you choose."

At this point, I thought the general is making less and less sense, so I might as well just have him get it over with.

"You intrigue me, General. Please continue!"

He reached up and scratched his sideburns like a dog scratching his ear, which was frankly a little bit disconcerting since most gentlemen would run off and hide in the corner to do such a thing, even though it is perfectly natural.

"First let me offer you some advice, Miss Lucas. If you would like a husband, and you do not disdain military husbands, simply return here. We ship dozens of them through here every day, and you can just about have your pick of the lot."

"Keep in mind general I have no fortune, or not very much of one anyway."

The general just waved his hand as if that was of no importance, and said, "That is convenient Miss Lucas. Any officer who believes he needs a fortune from his wife is not worthy of your hand, so it is a reasonably good way to weed out the rakes. The matter of fortune may be alleviated somewhat by other concerns."

It was almost shocking to talk of marriage with the general in such a pragmatic way, but I had gotten used in the previous year to working in uncomfortable situations, so this one was not particularly terrible. At least I was reasonably certain the general would survive the encounter.

"It seems a lot of trouble to try to sort them out, General."

He just laughed, and said, "Let me do the sorting for you, Miss Lucas. If you come back here, that is the favor I will grant you. I will find you a _good_ man in this King's army. You may take him or leave him as you choose, but I will present you with a few choices. I know a good number of officers who would give much to have a wife like you."

The very idea that someone would choose me over someone else… anyone else was so foreign that I just sat there with my mouth hanging open, while the General laughed openly. He was not laughing at me, he was simply laughing at the situation. I trusted the man within reason, and I thought that I just might take him up on his offer.

"I presume, Sir, that this means the favor you're going to ask me is rather onerous?"

He became much more taciturn after that, and said, "Yes and no."

I could have asked for clarification, but I reasoned that he would get around to it eventually.

"Sometimes in battle Miss Lucas, men are wounded in the head, the heart or the soul, not in the body. Sometimes both, but the head and the heart are the more difficult ones to deal with."

This is not particularly news to me. I had seen men who screamed in panic in the middle of night, the men who thought I came to kill them rather than to offer succor, the men who cowered in their beds in the middle of the night in fear and nothing could make them move. One man had even left the hospital one day while I was at church, and killed a couple passerby who he thought for certain were Frenchmen. There were many names for it, such as soldier's heart, melancholy, irritable heart and the like; but mostly it was whispered. It was not anything anybody wanted to have happen to them, or even talk about. Some called it cowardice, some call that just injuries of the mind, but most just did not want to talk about it and would just as soon the soldier die and be done with it to remove the ambiguity.

The group of people who did _not_ want to talk about it _included me_ , and I was much less sanguine about this so-called favor the general was asking.

"What exactly are you asking, General."

"Nothing too onerous I hope, Miss Lucas. I mostly need discretion and patience. I have a man who was at the two worst battles we had in Spain in the last few years. He has been in battle much more than any man ought, but he could not be dissuaded from what he considered his duty. He recently, out of the blue, attacked a woman, or rather, compromised her, and then tried to end his own life."

I gasped in shock at that idea. I was not actually shocked per se, as we had also had soldiers try to kill themselves in the hospital more than once, and even one or two who managed to succeed within weeks of going home. It was nothing particularly new or shocking, but something best dealt with by someone who was not me!

"And what do you expect me to do, General? I must confess I have no useful knowledge in this area."

The general saw that I was ready to jump up, run out the door and never look back, so he made a few placating motions with his hands.

"I do not expect miracles, Miss Lucas. Simply tend the wounds on his neck, talk to him a little bit, and see if you can do something. I have seen you do it in the hospital Miss Lucas. I did not pick you at random. If anybody can help this man, you can. Stay with him for a few weeks, and I will consider the favor complete, whether he is whole or not."

I was _not_ looking forward to this task in the least. It seemed a nearly impossible job, for which I was ill suited. On the one hand, taking care of a _single_ patient would be very nearly the same as a holiday. On the other hand, having to take care of a single man would allow a level of intimacy that I was really not very sanguine about, and if he managed to finish the job of killing himself, or worse yet, harmed another, I would find it very difficult to live with. On the third hand, the general's offer, while not _conditional_ on my looking after his friend, would be prosecuted with more diligence if I did this task for him. My life could be set by a month's unpleasant work.

The general continued relentlessly.

"You will not be expected to be alone with him, Miss Lucas… ever. You are under the protection of the man's cousin, and you will have footmen and maids aplenty. All I ask you to do is to try to help him, for one month, and to report anything to me you feel would be my business to know, but nothing more."

It was nice to know that he was not expecting me to spy on his officer, and that he was trusting my good judgment in this.

"General, we are supposed to pretend that gentlewomen do not make bargains, but let us be clear. As a gentlewoman, my so-called reputation would take a beating where I known to be employed or making quid pro quo bargains with Generals. This is between the two of us, but I will take care of your Colonel for you. When I am done, I expect you to find me a husband. My requirements are not stringent. I need an honorable man, with a reasonable situation, who will treat me well. Anything beyond that is neither needed nor expected."

The general, showing a bit of the confidence that probably got him to be a general in the first place, replied, "The most difficult part of that job will be sorting the wheat from the chaff, Miss Lucas. The task shall not be onerous. You have your bargain."

With that, I tacitly gave up my toehold on the gentry, and thought that I really would not miss it. The idea of being an officer's wife had never occurred to me as a reasonable way forward, but after my experience, I suspected an officer was likely to be the only man who would ever be able to talk to me intelligently again. I tried to imagine explaining what I had done during my time in the hospital to some bumbling gentlemen like Mr. Bingley, and practically had to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the idea. Even my brother or father would _never_ be told what went on here, which was for the best.

Our business complete, the general ushered me out, and pointed me to a footman who had been standing outside the office waiting for me. He indicated the footmen would take me where I needed to go, and then he ushered the well-dressed maid out along with me.

I asked the footmen, "I will need to get my trunk, Sir."

"We already have that, Miss Lucas. The coach is ready for you at your pleasure, but you are awaited at the end, so I would ask that we leave reasonably soon."

I did my best not to snort. The general had 'asked' for the favor, but since my trunk was already loaded on the coach, he already knew the answer before he started. I reckoned that was why he was a general, and I was not… well, aside from my lack of male equipage.

The footmen led the two of us over to what was absolutely the nicest coach I'd ever seen. Apparently, whoever I was going to do this favor for was sufficiently funded for the project. Having nothing more to do really, I allowed the footmen to hand me into the carriage. I started to nod a goodbye to the maid who had yet to say a single word to me, but she simply climbed in beside me. That seemed a little bit odd after my previous years' experience, but if I was to go back to at least pretending to be a gentlewoman, I guessed I would have to accustom myself to their ways.

"I apologize Miss, I never introduced myself. I am Miss Charlotte Lucas."

The maid seemed surprised that anybody would actually talk to her with anything other than instructions, but eventually worked her way into answering, "I am Selina Blackmore, ma'am. I am to act as your lady's maid."

I do not particularly like the sound of that, but I imagined I could probably eventually learn to live with the luxury. Whoever owned this coach was obviously from the first circles, and was unlikely to allow someone under his care to 'suffer' any type of deprivation.

"It is nice to meet you Miss Blackmore. I have never had a lady's maid, so your duties should not be too onerous. Have you any idea how long our journey is?"

"The coachman told me around four hours."

I looked around the coach, and paid attention to the type of the world we seemed to be moving into. The coach had two coachmen, which is obviously one more than really needed. There were two footmen on the back, both conspicuously armed. There were two outriders that traveled back-and-forth on the road in front of and behind the coach, as if I were someone important. It all seemed a little silly. A post coach would have been just fine, but whoever I was working for would consider that beneath him, and I imagined the extra people traveling with me all needed employment just as bad as I did. I was not one to complain.

About half an hour into the journey, I decided to lay down to rest, and suggested he maid do the same. I had learned over the past year to rest when it was available, as there was never any way to know when you might need it. I missed most of the rest of the trip, and in fact had no idea where we were going, or even in which direction.

Salina woke me up from a restless sleep, to indicate that we were approximately half an hour from the inn that was our destination for the evening. My 'employer' was to meet us at the inn, and word was that he was already there awaiting us. Salina felt duty bound to try to make less of a mess of my hair and my clothing. I was mostly indifferent to such things as long as they were reasonably clean, but Salina was not to be denied. Even working in a moving coach, with nothing but a small mirror to work with, the young girl performed miracles. By the end of the trip, I almost looked like a real woman.

We soon pulled into a coaching inn that I was unfamiliar with. The step was pulled down by footmen, the door opened, and I stared in shock right into the face of the very last man I expected to see.

* * *

 _A/N: If you want a minor spoiler, scroll down. Otherwise, carry on._

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 _Eventual HEA for ODC? Yes_

 _How? Where? Wait for it_


	9. Court No Evil

_A/N: My apologies for my unusually long posting delay. I have had a lot of things happening in RL over the last couple of months. My wife and I just had an investor take a substantial stake in our company, and we have just about doubled our staff in the last three months. All that kind of eats into my time, but here I am back again. I expect I've got another 4-5 chapters to go, and while I do not expect the posting rate to be super-fast, it will be done before too long. Wade_

* * *

Although Elizabeth Bennet obviously could not be aware of it except through secondhand knowledge, the leased townhouse she shared with Anne de Bourgh had much more in common with Pemberley than with Rosings. The walls were painted in a light cream color, with alternate accents that the leasing agent boasted were designed by a master from Paris. Anne believed that was probably hyperbole, but she did like the layout, the arrangement and the decorations of the townhouse immensely and didn't care if they had been designed by a beggar from Rat's Castle. Rosings was designed to intimidate, Pemberley was designed to subtly impress, and this house was designed to be lived in comfortably. There were even very few changes required to support Elizabeth. There were had been less than a dozen sharp corners that had to disappear, but otherwise they found the house remarkably suitable with very little effort or expense.

Elizabeth was also quite happy with the townhouse on that August morning, although for different reasons. She very much appreciated that for the most part the furniture stayed out of her way, and she also just liked the sound of the house. There was something about the way the music of the entirely insufficient pianoforte sounded in the room that brought her pleasure on occasion. She even liked the fact that in days when she was _not_ in a mood for solitary reflection, she could hear much of what went on in the house. With no eyesight, she lacked the usual amount of stimulation most people took for granted, and wanted to reach for all she could get; of course, without becoming a nosy busybody.

Now the pianoforte – that was a bit of a mixed blessing. True to her word, Mr. Hopkinson had found a master, and a pianoforte tuner the very next day after Mr. Read met Anne. Although the mistress of the house had been very tempted to simply purchase a brand-new pianoforte, Elizabeth had convinced her otherwise. Elizabeth knew that Anne could easily afford it, but she did not want to put too much pressure on herself to perform when she was not at all certain that she could do it well. If there was no outrageous expanse, and the pianoforte was _not_ of superior quality, then she just might be able to live with the sounds she made until she improved.

A few days later, the pianoforte was tuned, and Mr. Hopkinson had even acquired a master. Mr. Lambert came with good references, and he convinced Anne of his worthiness by sitting down to the newly tuned pianoforte, pulling a blindfold from his pocket to cover his eyes, and playing a song that practically brought tears to the ladies' eyes. He was naturally engaged immediately, and Elizabeth had now spent three weeks under his direction.

Elizabeth found the experience somewhere between rewarding and vexing. Mr. Lambert had very pragmatically taken a file and carved a few notches in the corner of the keyboard, and a few keys, which helped her establish her initial position somewhat easier. After that though, it was a matter of practice practice practice practice practice practice practice practice practice. Unfortunately, one or two of said practice sessions would produce something roughly akin to music, and two or three of the others would make her feel like she should revert to beating the keys with her head.

At least her head was nearly fully healed. She had found Mr. McKeen to be a man on a mission to cedar a good health. Mr. McKeen was a big proponent of the efficacy of gin for all injuries. Whether the gin was to be poured on a wound to prevent it from festering, or poured into your mouth to dull the pain, or possibly lit on fire to warm up a cold room, there was really no problem that could not be improved with a spot of gin. Elizabeth submitted willingly to all of the aforementioned remedies, with the possible exception of the fire, and true to the man's word her wound healed with nary a scar… either that, or every female in the house was perfectly willing to lie to Elizabeth, which seemed unlikely.

Elizabeth had just finished a session at her nemesis that was better than most, and was using the age-old trick of simply walking through the room with her hand trailing along the wall to work her way back to the parlor. She was expecting Anne to join her for tea, and she just _might_ even be prevailed upon to take her chances on the qualities of Mrs. Sherman's lemon tarts. Elizabeth was absolutely and unequivocally _not_ eavesdropping… She really was not, but was it really her fault that her hearing was so acute?

Mr. Read, over the previous fortnight had taken to using the study occasionally for meetings with his business associates when the townhouse was more convenient than his own lodgings. In England that would have been considered frightfully forward of him, but this was not England, and Anne was happy to give him the opportunity. Everybody knew there was no obligation created by the fact that he borrowed a study from time to time.

Elizabeth was walking not very near the library, when she overheard a conversation with a gentleman proposing some business with Mr. Read. There was nothing special about the words that were said, but something about the tone of voice, or the manner of speaking had her stop a goodly distance from the slightly open door, and listen without shame for several minutes. Like many people, she was a master of contradictions, and she reckoned that since she was a good bit farther away than a normal person could hear the conversation from, she was _not eavesdropping_. She was simply walking through the house, and really, you could not expect a blind person to run about willy-nilly at full speed.

When she had heard her fill, she continued at a much faster pace than her usual, in search of Anne.

"Anne, I need you to go and have a conversation with the man meeting with Mr. Read before he leaves."

Anne looked at her in some confusion. It was not particularly unusual for Elizabeth to blurt out things that made no sense, but she usually got around to it eventually.

"Lizzy, can you try to be a little bit more… I don't know… specific… perhaps?"

Elizabeth blew out a little sigh of exasperation, even though she knew she was being silly.

Anne continued, "What should I talk to him about? Why should I talk to some associate of Mr. Read?"

Elizabeth allowed the tension of her last practice session to leach out of her, and hurried to communicate her desires, "You may talk about anything you choose. The reason I want you to talk to him is that I believe the man is the spiritual brother of George Wickham. I do not trust him, although I cannot tell you specifically why, nor am I absolutely convinced of my conclusion. I just overheard enough of their conversation to set my teeth on edge, but I would not condemn a man based on that."

Anne was still digesting that news, when Mr. Read brought his associate from the library, and introduced him to the ladies.

"Miss de Bourgh, Miss Bennet, may I present Mr. Gillingham, an associate that has proposed a certain business with me that sounds most promising – most promising indeed."

"Mr. Gillingham, a pleasure to meet your Sir."

The ladies, in their usual bit of showmanship, produced nearly identical responses at the same time. Also by long‑standing tradition they also began their curtsy at the same time.

Anne looked to the man carefully, and asked, "If it is not impertinent, I wonder if you might enlighten us with what your businesses is, Mr. Gillingham. Miss Bennet and I are more curious than the average females."

"It is not impertinent Miss de Bourgh. Not impertinent at all. Mr. Read is in the business of trying to get a canal built, and I am in the business of trying to convince other men of means to participate in the venture. We were simply working out ways in which we might be able to assist each other."

"And how do you go about that, sir?"

"Well you see, I am engaged in a bit of trade with the territories, and I have certain contacts that might prove useful… men of industry… men of importance… that sort of thing."

Nothing he had said was in any way wrong, per se… but Anne felt like he gave her the shivers with just those few words, which she had carefully listen to while studiously looking elsewhere. She thought she might never have really detected any falseness in a man, because much like Lizzy had told him of other false men, he was well‑dressed, had engaging manners, sounded very intelligent, and carried a certain aura of faith and trustworthiness. When and looked at them directly and he spoke, he appeared very much to be sincere, honest and trustworthy. When she looked away and only listen to them, he lost that ability. Anne reckoned that she would have thought very well of the man if she had not been warned by Lizzie. Of course, she was never entirely certain that she did not simply adopt Lizzy's thoughts without bothering to make any thought of her own, but she reckoned that when Lizzie had a strong opinion she was perfectly willing to just accept it absent any compelling proof otherwise.

"Very interesting, Mr. Gillingham. Are you connected with men in the legislature, or men in industry? Perhaps you are involved in the mercantile business, or farming perchance?"

"Oh ladies, I am not involved in anything that is particularly lady's business, or that would be of interest to you. I'm sure you would find it all very dull. I am involved in all those things you mentioned, and I have many contacts and acquaintances who can be of benefit to Mr. Read. We are simply working out the specific ways we might help each other. Some will support Mr. Read's proposal, while others will stand in opposition. It takes experience with the men to know which is which, though, as they are not always very forthcoming."

Both Anne and Lizzie could not completely fall demand because he tried to exclude women from their business. By that standard, there were hardly any men in the world that would pass muster. No, they would not hold him to task for _that_ transgression, but there is something about the way he said it that give them pause.

They continued in conversation for a few more minutes, with both of the ladies becoming more and more uncomfortable with the man.

After a few minutes of this, Mr. Read notice the ladies' nervousness, and immediately yet courteously walked Mr. Gillingham out the door, and returned for tea as was his custom. In fact, when it came to courting – Mr. Read was a most diligent suitor. He came early and left late, but nobody really had any complaints about that.

"Mr. Read, Lizzie has something to say about Mr. Gillingham, and I must say I concur with her observations."

Mr. Read looked at Lizzie, and listened very carefully to what she had to say. One of the best thigs about the man was that he listened to anything anybody talking to him said, whether that person was the lady he was courting, another person in his business, a servant or a street urchin. All got the courtesy of his attention. Lizzy thought that one day he might put him to the ultimate test with Mrs. Bennet or Lady Catherine, and dared to think the man might even survive the experience.

Lizzy's description of what she found uncomfortable about the man was short but sustained, and like many revelations, it seemed relatively obvious in hindsight, but not so clear beforehand. Neither Mr. Read nor Anne thought they would have been able to detect the falseness before the man had done some definite harm, as he just had the look and sound of honesty about him.

Mr. Read took his leave a little bit later, and decided he would do a little bit of investigation about Mr. Gillingham, and let the ladies know what he had learned. Mr. Hopkinson, also being not especially busy that week, volunteered to ask around among the middle and servant classes. It seemed unlikely that the man would be able to escape their scrutiny.

What Elizabeth and Anne confirmed in the exchange was that Mr. Read was a consummate gentleman, that he did not treat ladies as imbeciles or fragile creatures who should be ignored, and that he treated both with the respect and courtesy of giving their opinions their due consideration. It must be noted, that both ladies found these traits most appealing, and _one_ of the ladies found these traits most appealing indeed.

* * *

The second month after what the ladies euphemistically referred to as the _courtship-forte incident_ brought several revelations.

The first was that Mr. Gillingham was in fact a snake of the worst sort. He was in fact much subtler, but also more damaging than Mr. Wickham could ever be in his fondest dreams. The man was absolutely mercenary, absolutely lacking in any morality or proper feelings, and had managed to clean out the fortunes of several relatively prominent families. Like Mr. Wickham, he could never keep any of the profits, with most of it going down the drain in the local gaming halls and brothels, so he was always looking for more. He had managed to perfect his act and was able to fool nearly anybody.

Once his perfidy had been discovered, Mr. Read was both mortifyingly embarrassed that he had brought such a snake into Miss de Bourgh's home, and frightfully angry at men who tried to take such advantage of those he held dear. The man disappeared without a trace a few weeks later, and no amount of cajoling could get anything out of Mr. Read about his fate, aside from the observation that men who had been taken advantage of were generally quite enthused at the ability to find the perpetrator. Whether Mr. Read had any connection to the disappearance or not, neither lady was particularly concerned so long as Mr. Gillingham never returned.

Elizabeth's second revelation was that over time, she was gradually coming to the opinion that it was better to play the pianoforte with her fingers in her head. The sound on her best days was still nearly as bad as Mary on her worst, but it was gradually improving. She can now play some of Beethoven's simpler pieces, and some of Herr Bach's pieces were nearly beginning to sound good enough to perhaps even bring a little bit of pleasure. It would still be some months before she was willing to let anybody else listen to her, but she could at least see a point when she would be prepared for that. She had also began singing again, even more to her chagrin, since she had always had a good voice and there was even less excuse for giving that up than the pianoforte.

Her third revelation was that she was in fact quite possibly the worst chaperone in the entire civilized world. This was not for the reason that the uninitiated would assume. She was in fact blind, so having her sit as chaperone for a couple seemed unreasonably silly, since they could probably get away with nearly anything without her being able to see it. The problem with that hypothesis was that Elizabeth Bennett could perfectly well hear in ant crawling up a wall on the other side of the room. There was absolutely nothing a couple could do that did not make enough noise to sound like a herd of horses running through the parlor. It only took one or two sessions of this duty to decide she had had quite enough, and Elizabeth found that she by necessity had extremely pressing business at her school anytime Mr. Read and Anne were engaged in any serious courting.

The end of the second month finally arrived, and as October slowly revolved into November, it became increasingly imperative for Mr. Read to return to attending to other matters. He had had reasonable success in his political endeavors to date, but his business back in Ohio required his immediate attention. Naturally, Mr. Read had not the slightest intention of leaving without either of the ladies, so Elizabeth arrived back from her school one day to find Anne practically jumping up and down with joy. Mr. Read had come to the point, neither too soon nor too late, and according to Miss de Bourgh, the proposal was everything wonderful and proper.

Another fortnight of preparation was all that was required, and on the first day of November in 1812, Miss Anne de Bourgh surrendered her birth name in favor of Mrs. Reed, and the entire household packed up in preparation to decamp to Ohio. It was clearly not the best time of year to be traveling overland, so they planned a relatively long journey, with ample options to stop and see things along the way, and clearly laid plans to encounter delays here and there. They reckoned if they got snowed into some town between one place and another, it would not likely be the end of the world.

Around half of the servants of the house chose to come along to Ohio to take employment with Mr. Read or continue serving Mrs. Reed, while unbeknownst to everyone in the house except Miss Bennett, about half of the remaining servants had already established relationships and had their own wedding plans. Mr. Hopkinson was quite enamored with the idea of seeing Ohio, as were Mr. and Mrs. McKean. Elizabeth had been quite happy to stand with Hannah as she became Mrs. McKean, and given her history having a man handy with the needle seemed like it might be useful.

The last day before their departure, Elizabeth pulled Anne aside for something she considered a relatively embarrassing conversation.

"Anne, I need to ask of you a favor, that will be… perhaps a bit out of the ordinary, and may in fact put your mother in an awkward position, but I will ask it anyway."

She had deliberately picked today sometime after Anne's wedding, reasoning that a young bride might be a little bit more forgiving of the foibles of her companion.

"What is it you ask Elizabeth. You know you can ask anything of me."

"I know I can ask anything of you Anne, but in this case, I am asking something of your mother."

Anne just snorted at that, and replied, "If you think anything you can ask of my mother will distress her, or even believe that it is possible to distrust my mother, I feel you did not spend enough time in Rosings."

Elizabeth laughed at the impertinence of the suggestion, but then plowed ahead with her own request. She handed Anne a letter, that was folded carefully, sealed with wax, but not addressed.

"Anne, I need you to include this in a letter to your mother, and I wish for her to pass it unread to Mr. Darcy, and for obvious reasons it must be done with absolute discretion."

Anne scrunched her face up in confusion, still occasionally forgetting that Elizabeth had no way of seeing that. Eventually realizing her mistake, she expressed her confusion verbally.

"I do not believe mother will disdain the task, but what is this letter, Elizabeth? Why the secrecy?"

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders a little bit, and then said, "You and I are practically Americans Anne, but Mr. Darcy is still very much an English aristocrat. Receiving a letter from an unmarried lady would be considered a major breach in propriety, worthy of the worst fortune hunter, and I can only imagine how nervous it would make him. However, I have things that are private and must be said to the gentleman, and I trust your mother to handle it quietly."

Anne wondered what in the world Elizabeth could possibly have to say to her cousin. She knew there had been some type of altercation between them before Elizabeth came to Rosings, but in those days, she had been sick more often and well, and the subject had never been delved into in any depth. Later, when the two had shared what seemed like it must be nearly all of their secrets, this was one that had never actually come up, nor had she felt the need to pry.

"I will do as you ask Elizabeth, and I do not doubt that Mother will do her part as well. She is very much in your debt."

"Thank you, Anne."

Mrs. Read took the letter, tucked it into her bodice for safekeeping, and taking Elizabeth's hand, she bade her to sit down.

"There is one other thing I must tell you, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth could detect the tension in her voice, and wondered what it could possibly mean. She had not really given a tremendous amount of thought to what she would do after and her companion was married. Mr. Read invited her to live with them for as long as she liked, and Elizabeth was certainly not averse to the idea. After all, Ohio did sound vastly superior to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, which she reckoned was a reasonable expectation were she to try to get back to England. Even if she did try to go back home, she really felt like she had no place there anymore. It seemed inevitable that Anne's life would go more and more to her husband and her children, but there was still time before she had to worry too much about that to try to find her own place in the world.

Elizabeth reckoned that her schools would be her salvation. She had spent more and more time there over the previous month, and was quite looking forward to setting up the next one in Ohio. She had managed to double the size of the school here in New York, and was quite satisfied with the results to date. Anne still had plenty of money to fund more schools, and Elizabeth thought she could very well spend a considerable amount of time engaged in that endeavor. She had no idea whether it would be necessary in the much more countrified areas of Ohio, but she imagined she would find out soon enough.

Anne gathered her courage and continued.

"Elizabeth, there is something I must tell you. My mother probably did not tell you all the conditions of your employment. She settled quite a reasonable sum of money on you, to become yours either at my death or my marriage. She frankly did not expect the latter case to ever be true, but she is diligent in looking at all possibilities. Your time is a paid companion ended yesterday, and you are quite well enough off to live any way you choose now. You must know that you always have a place in my home and my heart, and my husband feels the same. I would very much appreciate it if you would come with me to Ohio and stay for as long as you choose, but you are under no obligation or need to do anything not of your choice."

Elizabeth had a very tough time keeping yourself from crying… Well, actually, she could not do it all, but she gave it her best attempt.

"Anne, you know I will probably be with you for quite some time. I do not know what the future holds, but I certainly do not consider our association anywhere near the end."

Anne gave her a little bit of a shy look, then rubbed the back of her hand with the back of her hand which was the signal they had developed for the same kind of idea, and then finally said, "Elizabeth, you are to live with us until you marry. Then you will have your own home to go to."

Elizabeth just laughed at that, replying, "You are very much mistaken if you believe I will ever marry, Anne."

Anne recognize the stubborn set of her friend's jaw, and decided there was not really much point in arguing about it. Just as with her music, Elizabeth would come to the idea that she did not have to forgo the pleasures of home and hearth forever. Elizabeth Bennett always came to see good common sense… after every other alternative had been exhausted.


	10. Treat No Evil

By the time Bingley and the new Mrs. Bingley left for their wedding trip, I had put off any decision about whether to inform her of the situation with Richard time and time again until the choice was taken from me. Eventually, if you procrastinate long enough, there really is no way to bring the subject up; and I saw very little purpose in making her aware of the particulars so soon after her marriage. She would either learn about my cousin sooner or later; or she would not. If she was vexed with me for keeping the truth from her, she could simply join my aunt in their disapprobation. I reasoned that the two or three ladies could commiserate together for a while about my obstinance, spend a pleasant hour or two trying to one-up each other with descriptions of my general lunkheadedness, and then they would all eventually forgive me after another hour or two of groveling. They would probably even thank me for the entertainment.

I had received word from Richard's commanding officer, General Smythe, that he located a particularly good nurse, and she was to leave the hospital in London forthwith. It probably seems a bit disingenuous that I beat the man halfway to death, only to save him from finishing the job, and now to be unaccountably nervous that the nurse might be able to help him. Such was the vexation of dealing with a man who was clearly broken, but possibly not beyond redemption. In the end, no matter what he did he was family, and I had high hopes the nurse had some vague idea what to do, as I certainly did not.

When I had first come upon Richard accosting Jane Bennett, he was made to suffer for all the pent up rage I built up over years of dealing with George Wickham. It was somewhat ironic in a way. I had prevented Richard from hunting Wickham down and killing him over his actions in Ramsgate. I believe had I not dissuaded him, he would have either challenged the scoundrel to a proper duel, or he might have just made him disappear one night. Now, after allowing Wickham to nearly ruin my sister's life, I found my most beloved cousin in a similar position, and nearly killed him. Someday, I imagined I would have to reckon with whichever god was playing around with the irony of my life. The fact that it was Jane's sister who eventually took care of Wickham once and for all was just a double-dish of the quirks of fate.

Anxious to get the man away from Rosings before any more people knew about what happened to him, I dragged my cousin out at first light. I tried to force some food down him, but he was incapable of eating anything. By that, I do not mean he was listless and out of energy, or that he disdained the food; he literally _could not_ eat. By his facial expression, it seemed that the thinnest gruel the kitchen could produce went down like a box of rocks. I hoped he would be able to eat some broth or some gruel by the end of the day, or the next day at worst, but for the moment he was as content as he was likely to be.

I could not drag a single word out of the man, or just about any other reaction for that matter. He simply sat wherever I told him to go morosely, neither looking at me, nor saying or doing anything. If he did happen to look my way, his eyes looked like he was already a corpse, rotted on the battlefield. When I told him to get up and go to the coach, he allowed Barrow to assist him since he was still quite weak without a word, or any care for a coat or cravat or any other part of his appearance. Barrow tried to put a cravat on him, and he showed the only bit of initiative of the morning by refusing it. I debated riding in the coach with him, but elected to ride my horse instead. I have no idea whether I was being kind or cowardly, but I could not imagine several hours in the coach with him.

We reached the coaching inn where we were to await the nurse, and I sent him up to his room with Barrow, while the rest of the footmen took care of packing us up into our rooms, and arranging for a light supper.

Unable to engage in any employment, I was simply sitting nursing a brandy staring at the empty embers of what would be a fire in the winter, when one of my outriders came in telling me that the coach would be there in a few minutes. I straighten my appearance to the best of my ability, and went out to meet with the nurse the general sent. I was desperately hoping she would be able to tell me what to do, since I had not the vaguest idea.

* * *

As my coach came to a stop, I opened the door myself, and stood to the side to hand the young nurse down. I knew from the general's note that she was a gentlewoman who had taken up the mantle of caring for men in the hospital more than a year past, which immediately earned my respect and admiration. It could not have been easy. However, the general, in his usual bit of obtuseness neglected to mention anything about her. I did not know where she was from, how old she was, what her situation was, or even her name.

All of that became immediately clear, when she met my eyes and gasped in surprise.

"Mr. Darcy!"

I held my surprise in check to the best of my ability, and then actually let out a surprisingly big smile, considering my acquaintance with young lady.

"Miss Lucas! Well met my lady, well met. Well met, indeed. I am very happy to have you here."

I am certain I babbled on in that manner for at least another minute, sounding more and more like Mr. Collins or her father Sir William, while Miss Charlotte Lucas seemed thoroughly perplexed by the reply.

"Happy, sir? How can you even have enough knowledge of me to have an opinion? We are the most trifling of acquaintances."

I could see her regretting the words almost as soon as they came out of her mouth. I imagined after a year in an Army hospital she had become accustomed to either speaking her mind, or holding her tongue, but very little in between. It did not seem likely that an Army hospital was a place that would follow the Byzantine rules of propriety, and I was certainly of no mind to let her suffer any embarrassment over candor which I found refreshing.

I laughed a little bit to set her at her ease, but considering my behavior in our previous acquaintance, that might have frightened her more than had I remained taciturn. I set out to put her mind at ease.

"You remember I met you several times a year ago, Miss Lucas. I danced with you at that first assembly, had supper at your father's house, and danced again at the Netherfield ball, much to my delight. I am indeed quite happy to see you."

She seemed to relax a little bit, but I thought I should say just a little bit more, "And if my own observations were insufficient to form an opinion of your worthiness Miss Lucas, which I assure you is not the case; or I had no faith in General Smyth, which is also untrue; I have your unequivocal recommendation from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and frankly that is all the justification I need for nearly anything. You would not have me distrust Miss Bennet, I presume?"

The lady was quite calm now, and I probably need not have worried about her anyway. I imagined she had seen and done worse than a conversation with a man like me.

Getting down to business, she smiled at the mention of the woman who would always be ' _Elizabeth'_ in my mind, and asked, "Who and where is my patient, Mr. Darcy?"

I imagine that this lack of ceremony was probably exactly appropriate in the hospital, and I had to admit I was impressed. She seemed to be just what we needed here and now, and my pleasure at her acquaintance was not to be denied.

I gave her a deep bow of respect, and continued, "We have much to discuss, Miss Lucas. Would you care for a quick meal, or would a bath to get the dust off the road be preferable?"

She glanced down at her dress. The roads had actually been in reasonably good condition so she was not especially dusty, and I could see that Selina had not been derelict in her duties so not a soul could find anything wanting in Miss Lucas' appearance. She had the look of someone who had woken up relatively recently, so I imagined she had taken a little bit of rest in the coach, but I was certainly not going to push her too far or too fast.

"I would prefer a meal and some information, if you do not mind Mr. Darcy. I rarely have a bath more than once a fortnight, so I imagine I can survive another few hours."

I gave her another nod with my head, and extended my arm. She stared at it a moment as if she had never seen anybody do such an odd thing, and then a little bit awkwardly reached up and took it. I was not in the least offended, and with a nod to Salina we headed into the inn.

* * *

I had arranged for a private room for the two of us. I sent Salina off to take care of Miss Lucas's effects, which seemed to consist of a single trunk, and instructed her to take her own supper while she had the chance. Even though Miss Lucas seemed to be beyond the reach of propriety, I was not, and I did not want her to be uncomfortable so I replaced Selina with Mrs. Mills. I lead Miss Lucas over to a table that held some provisions, and told her, "Miss Lucas, Mrs. Mills will stay in the corner there. She is quite nearly deaf, and even before that she was entirely trustworthy, so we will observe all the proprieties but our conversation will be private. Do you have any objections?"

"Of course not, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy left somewhat abruptly last year, but she trusted you before that, and as you recently said, anyone good enough for Lizzy Bennet is good enough for me."

I was happy to see that she was willing to trust me and even tease a bit, although each reference to Elizabeth practically crushed my heart. After the incident at Netherfield, I never really knew what anybody from Hertfordshire would think of me, and I was pleased to see that she was either ignorant of the bad behavior of our party, or not particularly bothered by it. My firm suspicion was that not a single word about the last incident before she left had been spoken to anybody. If I had not already highly esteemed the Bennet sisters, I certainly would now.

Mrs. Mills took her seat in the far corner, while one of the serving maids from the inn brought in a bottle of wine, a few glasses and a few plates of food. I had no idea what Miss Lucas preferred, so simply asked for a wide variety of food to choose from.

We sat to table and by mutual agreement partook of the food for a few minutes before beginning our discussion, but neither of us were in any mood to delay it overly long. Out of politeness I waited for her to begin, but it did not take more than 10 minutes.

"Mr. Darcy, might you tell me why I am here, Sir?"

I had to admire her desire to get the unpleasant business over with. She knew perfectly well it was going to be unpleasant or she would not have been here, so I set out to enlighten her.

"Miss Lucas, the General tells me you have some experience with this sort of thing. My cousin…"

When it came right down to it, had a very difficult time actually saying the words.

"Mr. Darcy, it will not get any easier later. Suck up your courage and just get on with it."

I looked at her with ever growing respect, and had to admire her courage. I had only known one lady aside from my mother and aunts who would stand up to me in that particular way, or actually in any way at all. I had to imagine I must have led a very sheltered life of privilege and ease, considering how few people were willing to tell me anything that might displease me, or worse yet take me to task. That thought made me think once again of the _one_ lady who had done so, and as with all thoughts of Elizabeth, I felt guilty once again over my behavior, and watched her phantom burrow another inch into my heart.

However, there was business to attend to, and I would defer my thoughts of the lovely Elizabeth Bennet until later.

"It is my cousin, Miss Lucas. He is not right. We grew up together, and have been almost as inseparable as brothers. He shares the guardianship of my younger sister, so we have always had a close friendship. However, I have sensed a growing distance over the last couple years of his service."

Miss Lucas nodded in understanding, but did not feel any need to add unnecessary words to the discussion.

"A few days ago, he asked a young lady to marry him. She refused him most politely I am assured, and he… he… he…"

At this point I had a very hard time continuing, but she simply placed her hand over mine which was sitting on the table clenched into a fist, with my fingernails digging a hole in my palm. She simply laid her hand gentle as a breeze on the top of mine until I found it relaxed enough to first unclench the fist, and then flatten it entirely. After that she took her hand back to her side of the table, and left it laying there beside her plate.

"He seems to of lost himself and accosted the lady."

I expected a little bit more shock than I actually received, but Miss Lucas got right down to essentials.

"Was the young lady harmed? Has she been recovered? Was she compromised? Is she somebody you know?"

Following her earlier advice, I sucked up my courage and continued.

"Yes, she is young lady I know quite well… as do you. It was Jane Bennett. I got to know her while she was visiting her sister at my aunt's estate in Kent. I happened upon her right when the incident happened, and I… well… I… well… …. well, Miss Lucas… I beat my cousin within an inch of his life with fists and boots."

This was enough to make the apparently unflappable Miss Lucas gasp in shock, and she raised her hand to her mouth which was formed into a rigid O shape as she seemed to turn pale.

It was some time before either of us could speak again, but she finally began.

"I presume that explains all of those bruises, your stiff shoulder and your limp, Sir! Please tell me they are both at least in good health!"

I had to admire her even more. Even in a state of shock and anxiety, her first thoughts were for her friend and her patient, both of which seemed to occur instantly and simultaneously.

"Miss Bennett… well, actually… Mrs. Bingley…"

Once again, she gasped in surprise, but then she gave me the biggest smile I think I had ever seen. That actually relieved quite a bit of my anxiety, and allowed me to continue.

"She had not actually seen Mr. Bingley in over a year, but apparently both of their feelings remain strong. I actually offered Miss Bennett my hand, but she preferred Mr. Bingley. That gentleman was as amenable to the idea as a pig is to slops, so in the end, it all worked out for the best."

I suspected that Miss Lucas had not had a good laugh in some time, because she started giggling, and then started laughing, and soon we are both laughing uncontrollably, while Mrs. Mills sat smiling at us while continuing with her knitting.

Miss Lucas finally asked, "How in the world did you arrange that?"

I laughed a little bit more and said, "I seem to have stumbled on the only two sisters in all of England who really do not want much of anything to do with me."

We both continued to laugh a little bit, but eventually we came back under good regulation.

Miss Lucas said, "Can you at least tell me that Jane is satisfied with her match? And by the by, I might mention that Lizzy's opinion of you may not precisely match that statement. She went 4,000 miles to help her friend, not to escape you."

I gave her my very best smile, and replied, "Jane is more than satisfied. I mostly consider her close to a sister now. Mr. Bingley is satisfied. Mr. and Mrs Collins are ecstatic. Aunt Catherine is very well satisfied. You may well presume Mr. and Mrs. Bennet's opinion, although this all happened so quickly I am not certain they even know yet. The incident was two days ago and the wedding was yesterday. Even little Abby is sanguine, although as usual she expresses her satisfaction by screaming her head off."

Apparently being familiar with young Miss Abigail at least by reputation, Miss Lucas gave another quite dazzling smile. I had to suspect that if she ever managed to point that smile at any unsuspecting unmarried man in the region, he would mostly be done in for, but would not rue the day. I would have to pick him up off the floor, stand him up next to the parson, and it would be the best day of his life.

We gradually settled down, and she somewhat reluctantly, asked, "and your cousin, sir? I presume when you said that you beat him within an inch of his life, that at least you left that one inch."

I frowned a little bit, and said, "well, I left that inch, but only because Jane stopped me. However, the next day he decided to take it himself."

"Can you tell me what method he decided to use?"

I was even more impressed with her. The idea of discussing the specifics of how a man actually attempted to take his own life with a woman would have been quite beyond me a few months prior.

"He made a noose from the ropes in his bed, and hung himself. Another half a minute or less would have done the job."

She looked at me carefully, and asked, "Can he speak? Can he eat? Shall I presume he has a V‑shaped scar that he will carry the rest of his life? How bad is it?"

I had to admit that she joined Jane and her sister at the very top of the list of women whom I had the most extreme respect for.

"Extremely good questions, Miss Lucas. He has not eaten nor spoken yet, nor given any indication that he will. I have asked the kitchen to send up some broth for him, but he collapsed into his bed the moment he arrived. He has managed to drink water several times today, so I believe he will be able to survive on the broth for a time."

She nodded as if that were good news, or at least something reasonably within her expectations.

"Very well Mr. Darcy, I will care for your cousin. I agreed with the general to do this for one month, and I will do my very best.

"I thank you, Miss Lucas. I am greatly in your debt, and if you do not find it too unseemly for me to say so, I pay my debts. It would be my privilege if you might consider yourself under my protection."

She just looked at me, and replied, "I do not doubt that Mr. Darcy. However, my debts for your cousin have already been taken care of by the General. If you feel a need for some payment, I will ask it on behalf of another, but not for some time."

I nodded in agreement, quite happy to agree to anything she would deign to ask.

She continued, "Might you give me your cousin's name, Sir?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam"

Surprisingly, she gasped when I shared that name. This woman who would take in everything I had said so far without batting an eye was stunned by the name of my cousin.

With her eyes round as saucers, she asked, "Colonel _Richard_ Fitzwilliam?"

This surprised me, but I simply replied, "Do you know him?"

"No sir, but I know _of_ him."

I found this extremely intriguing, but gave her the opportunity to say something or nothing by her choice.

"Mr. Darcy, how much do you know of your cousin's activities on the continent over the last two years?"

"I know that he was in both Badajoz and Salamanca, both of which were extremely bloody battles. However, he has steadfastly refused to give me any details. I respected his privacy when he would not answer my questions… or at least I respected it once I determined there was no amount of brandy that could drag it out of him. Was that a mistake?"

She thought about her answer a few moments, which I appreciated. I would much rather have a correct answer five minutes later than whatever someone blurted out on the spur of the moment.

"No sir, I cannot say that you have. A man's privacy should be respected, and there is very little chance that a man like you would be able to drag out any details your cousin did not feel inclined to give you anyway. Some men come back from war trying to rid themselves of the images by giving them away to everyone who will listen. Others try to do so by locking the images in a deep, dark corner of their mind. It sounds like your cousin is the latter type of man. I believe you acted correctly. You would have just driven him away."

I thought about that for a moment, then asked, "And yet, your reaction indicates you know something I do not, is this correct?"

"Yes sir, that is correct. It is not exactly common knowledge, but it is known well enough around the circles I have been frequenting."

"Would you feel it a violation of trust to enlighten me, Miss Lucas?"

She thought about it a few moments, and then continued.

"Among those who know such things, your cousin is a _legend_ , Mr. Darcy. He was indeed at those two battles, and at least two others equally bad. At Salamanca, he woke up screaming just as a Corporal threw him off a funeral cart into a grave. He was apparently the last man of his unit alive, and even that just barely, and he had been laying on the battlefield, covered by a dead Spaniard, very near death for an entire day and night. I am not at all certain that was the first or the last time he was one of less than a handful of survivors."

Now she had me sitting there with my mouth hanging open catching flies. How was it possible that I was unaware of this? How is it possible that my cousin had managed to keep this from me? Was I derelict in my duties for not dragging it out of him? Could I have helped him had I paid more attention?"

" _Mr. Darcy , whatever you are thinking… **Stop**! Stop now!_"

I looked at her respecting her commanding tone. Apparently, she had learned something besides _taking_ orders at the hospital. Once she saw she had my undivided attention, she continued.

"If your cousin wanted you to know these things, he would have told you. I doubt very much that you would have been able to drag it out of him, and it would have been a severe violation of trust for you to try. These kinds of things are known to soldiers, but they very rarely talk about them with their family. They come home to enjoy the normality of life, and rehashing their battles is rarely helpful. If he wanted to talk about it, then he would have done so with you. The family provides _something else_ he needs."

I looked at her carefully, and asked, "were you always this wise, Miss Lucas?"

She just chuckled a little bit grimly, and replied, "I am not wise, Mr. Darcy. I am simply experienced and sensible."

At this point I could see that she was rethinking some of the things she had seen or done or heard, and I could see her hand sitting on the table tensing up, so I covered it with mine as she had done earlier, and simply waited for her to calm down.

I had to admit, this was one damn impressive woman. Then I wondered what it was about the town of Meryton that seemed to grow them by the half-dozen.


	11. Travel No Evil

_A/N: My apologies for the slow posting rate, but that is going to be the norm for some time. These chapters are still much bigger than my usual, so you pretty much get three chapters at a time… mostly because I'm really pushing the limits of how many phrases I can end with 'no evil' ;)_

 _I decided to try one more experiment in this chapter, thus violating yet one more of my cardinal rules. Let's see how you like it._

 _Wade_

* * *

As it turns out, the winter and early spring months were full of journeys. These voyages were of many types, durations and natures. This included the physical, philosophical, emotional, spiritual and of course, occasionally, literal. Of course, as is the nature of journeys, most had no idea what type of journey they were embarked on, and might not know for some time to come.

Miss Charlotte Lucas began her journey the day after meeting Mr. Darcy at the roadside inn, where. the young lady set herself the task of trying to undo years of damage to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Miss Lucas' motivations were not _mercenary_ per se, but they did have a bit of the practical about them. Her journey was to go from being a member of a team who followed orders and thought only of the health of _all_ her charges, to a place where she was to devote all of her time and energies to taking care of a single man who seemed to have nothing to recommend himself, and nothing to indicate he should get special treatment, save the fact that he had many powerful friends. The General, Mr. Darcy, his father the Earl and seemingly others cared for his welfare, so his care was to be her journey. The general tasked her to look after this specific Colonel, and she imagined he was likely to be as good or bad a patient is any, but otherwise she began her journey with the Colonel serving mostly as a means to an end. Taking care of him was her duty, but also the thing that would set her up for life, and she was by no means unappreciative of how much affect this particular task would have on her future. Her journey to spinsterhood would divert itself to a more amenable direction, much to her approval. She would _occasionally_ divert herself to the idea that she was taking care of an army legend, but soon tamped her pride back to a reasonable level, and ascertained he was just another patient.

The first part of both her task and her journey was relatively easy, with the operative term there being _relatively_. The Colonel had physical injuries that needed tending just like any other wound, and she certainly knew how to take care of that. The more difficult part was that she also had to deal with being in close contact with the man for days at a time, and she was nowhere near so certain she knew how to deal with that.

Mr. Darcy placed them in what he called a _small hunting lodge_ at Pemberley. While this 'lodge' was not a grand estate, it was not a hovel either. She knew perfectly respectable tradesmen with six children who were quite comfortable in a house half as big and a tenth as grand. Of course, by Mr. Darcy's standards it was practically a shack in the woods. It only had three footmen, two maids and a cook to handle a patient and a nurse. The stables could only handle a half‑dozen horses and a single carriage. Charlotte's first small journey started with wondering if she would ever accustom herself to being in the company of the very rich.

The Colonel had a V‑shaped scar and rope burn on his neck, as is typical of people who are hanged. The V‑shape is caused by the tension of the rope where the noose is tied. In the Colonel's case, more by chance than anything else, the inverted "V" pointed at his right ear. Mr. Darcy, for reasons known only to himself brought the rope for her inspection. When asked why, he simply replied, "I have no idea if it will help you in any or not, so I brought it."

All Charlotte learned from inspecting the rope was that the Colonel must have taken great care because it was tied neatly and carefully, every strand of the noose carefully placed with no overlaps, twists or blemishes. Neither Mr. Darcy nor Miss Lucas really understood that the Colonel had placed the offending knot behind his right ear. The choice was probably made arbitrarily, but it was made, and that decision no doubt spared the Colonel's life as the weight and strain were mostly sustained on the less vulnerable left side of his neck. That choice, along with the decision to not do a hasty and sloppy job with what the Colonel in his confused state considered his last task of any importance, no doubt saved his life. Had he made a faster or sloppier job with the noose, or placed it under his left ear, Mr. Darcy's intervention would have been much too late to save his life. It would be some time before either of them would understand that, and for the Colonel, even longer before he would appreciate the hand that fate had dealt him. Whether fate or chance was involved, these two choices _did_ delay the Colonel's appointment with the Grim Reaper long enough for his cousin Darcy to either save him or condemn him to a life of abject misery, shame and guilt.

The start of their shared journey left Charlotte wondering if she had taken on a bigger task than she was capable of, and the Colonel, more often than not, wallowing in self‑pity and self‑reproach over his inability to manage a simple killing. Over the first few weeks, he eventually determined that he was to survive for the immediate future, and thus he reckoned it was prudent to try to live a little bit – or at the very least, try to keep out of Charlotte Lucas's Brown books.

Charlotte Lucas, began with at least the relatively simple task of treating the man's wounds, which naturally festered since the bed ropes and Rosings had not been cleaned in some time. That was simple wound care, and something easy enough to do. The Colonel's throat was also heavily damaged, so he had a very difficult time speaking. In the first part of the journey, Charlotte was ambivalent about whether this was a blessing or a curse, as most of what he eventually managed to croak out was either offensive, rude, whiny, paranoid, vulgar, defeatist or her all-time favorite – tears. After two weeks of this Charlotte was certain she was very much in well over her head, and nearly drowned. Charlotte could also see that bringing this man back to health in a month was an impossible task, and wondered what would happen when time ran out. She still had obligations back at the hospital, and the Colonel was not the only victim of the war that needed assistance.

She immediately wrote to the head sister at her hospital for advice and instruction, and anxiously awaited the reply. In the meantime, she simply did her best. The Colonel woke up two or three times every night doing his best imitation of a scream, which was no doubt quite terrifying in his own mind, but to the rest of the household sounded more like cat drowning in a bathtub. He would thrash around mercilessly, so Charlotte would several times a night go in with either Barrow, Salina or both, and shake the man awake.

Once he was awake, they tried various remedies to get him back to sleep, or keep him up for the few hours remaining in the night. Charlotte believed some sleep would probably do the man some good, so she set out with resolute determination trying to find a way to make that happen. Every medication anybody could think of was tested, including coffee, tea, brandy, whiskey, laudanum, willow bark tea, and quite unknown to themselves, Mr. McKeen's favorite – **gin**. They tried various concoctions from the apothecary, and some suggested by the physician. Charlotte kept careful notes of every treatment and result, and eventually decided it was a futile effort. She had no idea she would do once her month was up, and hoped the sister who had been at this for 20 years would have some advice for her.

* * *

 _Oct 10  
Macmillan's Hospital, London_

 _My Dear Miss Lucas,_

 _It seems to me you have volunteered to do a most difficult task, and I do hope you did actually volunteer and were not appointed by the General. He is a man accustomed to giving orders, and would not scruple to do so, but you must know if you find the task too difficult I will send you assistance or a replacement._

 _When a man is damaged in his mind and his soul, it is a difficult thing for his nurse because I do not know of any treatment that is consistently efficacious. Some men reply well to being given a task that helps others in some way, and some additional responsibilities, as this helps give them a sense of purpose and activity. Other men cannot stand the idea of having to take on any responsibilities, and most be allowed some rest. They feel that they have been running and fighting their entire lives, and they simply need some peace and quiet to order things in their own minds. Some men cannot wait to get back to the battlefield, because at least there they know what to do, and they stand a good chance of having the decision of how to live their lives decided for them. In the end, I believe more men respond well to additional responsibility than need rest and peace or more violence, but that is for you to determine because the man himself will be of very little assistance. He is unlikely to know his own mind._

 _You may find that your man suffers from what some of the leading men of science are starting to call 'paranoia'. The men of science seem to love using Greek words for maladies. In this case, it is a feeling of being persecuted, hounded, chased; beset on all sides by enemies far and near. They will quite irrationally think the most innocuous child or acquaintance is bent on harming them; and they will sometimes strike out with words or deeds at those that are closest to them. Be on your guard, as sometimes these moods strike suddenly and without warning, so insure you are_ _never_ _alone with him._

 _Naturally, he will be filled with shame, embarrassment and mortification at what he perceives as either a mortal sin, weakness or bad judgment, and these feelings may be the most difficult for him to deal with. This may well be the hardest thing to get past, because he will eventually have to forgive himself if he is to ever heal, and a life of self‑flagellation does nobody any good._

 _Many of these men have trouble sleeping, finding their nights to be plagued by nightmares and visions. Sometimes these dreams are recollections of the horrors they experienced in war, sometimes they are visions of a bleak future they can imagine, and sometimes they are just horrors dreamed up from the imagination. The worst is if the man committed some offense which he believes he is not capable of asking forgiveness for – perhaps an act of violence outside of the battlefield, which is quite common. The nightmares keep the man awake, which makes him tired and irritable all day the next day, which in turns makes his companions irritable and short tempered, which disturbs their sleep and causes nightmares all over again. This goes around and around like a dog chasing its tail until either the patient or his caretakers eventually explode. Be on your guard for this. There is a very good chance the nightmares have been occurring for some time._

 _Some men need to talk about their experiences, over and over endlessly until they finally work all the poison out of their system, while others need to bundle up the memories and stuff them in the farthest corners of their mind never to be spoken of or thought again. Many really_ _need_ _to talk, but cannot bring themselves to do so._

 _If it sounds like the treatments are all contradictory and confusing, it is because they are. You my dear, must help your patient work his way through these things. You must be his guide. You must somehow give him the inclination to point his energies towards healing. You cannot heal him – he must heal himself, but you must guide him. I imagine you are surrounded by footmen and maids. Do not discount them in your attempts to learn what must be done. Most servants have seen and learned much more than most of the gentry believes, and to be truthful, most servants have endured enough in their lives to be a bit more resilient as well. Talk to them and listen to their advice, but then make your own decisions and try your own experiments._

 _Another Greek word may help you. They have the idea of a 'Persona' or mask. The Colonel needs someone to guide him out of the wilderness and back to the light. You must be that person, and to do so, you must adopt the persona that he needs. Whether he needs is governess, mistress, sister, confessor, schoolmaster or sergeant; you must be that person when he is at his darkest. You must either lead him to the light through good example, or drive him towards it with a stick. You must encourage healing while discouraging self-destruction. If he has already tried to take his own life, there is a very good chance he will try again, and a man like that is unlikely to fail twice. He will be much more careful and subtle the second time._

 _You are a clever and intelligent woman, Miss Lucas. You have chosen this task, or fate has chosen it for you, so embrace your role and do what is necessary. Try a persona, and if that fails, try another. I am sorry I cannot be more specific, but much more clever women than you or I have failed to determine a proper course, so we all must muddle through._

 _I have spoken to the General, and neither he or myself expect you back. You are to stay with the Colonel as long as you have the stomach for the task. He has earned all the help we can give, and you have already given all that your king and country could ask of you. The General says that you have fulfilled your part of your bargain, and asks that you continue on your task as long as you can._

 _Sister Mary_

* * *

During the time that Charlotte was beginning to try out the different personas, Jane and Charles Bingley were on a very different type of educational journey. Their primary mission was to identify and evaluate every single bed between Rosings and the Lake Country. Being a newly married couple, and full of all of the energy and optimism of young love, they made a serious and diligent effort to be as thorough as possible in this endeavor.

Once they reached the lakeside cabin so graciously provided by Mr. Darcy, they managed to slow down their frantic pace and simply enjoy their days in peace and harmony and quietude. By design, they only had two servants, an old married couple who looked after the cabin. They lived a half mile away from the house and only came to cook meals, deliver coal, light fires and do some light cleaning. Otherwise they were on their own the vast majority of their time.

Naturally they had to cut down on their mattress testing business, as there were only four mattresses in the entire house… Hardly more than a day's worth of testing. The rest of their time was spent in a very long-overdue task. They set out with great diligence, fortitude and alacrity to do a bit of courting. They had sacrificed the courting to circumstances, but they were both well aware that they could not just skip along as two bumbling happy people through the rest of their lives without putting any real thought into it. Mr. Bennett asserted that they would be cheated by their servants all the time or unable to make decisions, and both had to admit it was a real possibility. In reality, the couple had spent considerably less than a dozen hours in each other's company before their precipitous marriage, and had not spoken a single word to each other for over a year. During that year, Mr. Bingley grew from a boy to a man, while Mrs. Bingley grown similarly by leaving the noise of her childhood home to experience a different type of married life and the birth of a niece, along with a deep and lifelong friendship with Mr. Darcy. The Bingleys had both formed deep and hopefully long-lasting feelings of affection, love and gratitude, but there was very little actual experience of life to be able to give them confidence.

Over the course of many hours spent on each other's company, many quiet walks around the small cabin on the lake, a smaller number of trips into the small local village, and even a puppet show and a local theater performance, they gradually began to work out the intricacies of how they were to live their lives, how they were to raise their children, and more importantly, how they would allow their hearts to become truly joined. They both gradually came to the realization that each of them was in love with an imagined shadow of their spouse. All in all, they were both very fine shadows. They were entirely lovable, and worthy of anybody's consideration – **but** they were still shadows. Now that they were as one, it was time for the shadows to become a little bit more solid.

The shadows were easy enough to disperse by simply spending time together talking with complete honesty, or the best they could do. To tell the truth, complete honesty was actually so far beyond this couple's capabilities that they would have a difficult time even understanding the concept, and as with many couples, there was no guarantee they would ever achieve such a state, or even strive for it. Both had been raised with the rules of propriety from the first moments of their awkward adolescence, and propriety was really nothing more than thoroughly practiced deceit. All were taught to hide and diminish their true feelings, while giving good consequence to the world, deserving or not. Both had done a remarkable job of only letting the barest hint of their true feelings show explicitly, and both ended up quite nervous about how they were to live together.

However, as they began the journey of a married and dedicated couple, they spent a little bit of time each day, whether it was laying naked twined together in one of the convenient mattresses, or laying naked on the bearskin rug by the fire, or laying naked on one of the sofas, or laying naked in the coach with the shades drawn; each participant gradually got to pick away a little piece of the shadow, and see a little piece of what was behind it. They even managed to pull a bit of this off when they were _not naked_ , although in the first weeks of marriage, that particular skill was not quite as convenient as one might think.

Gradually, over the period of two months the couple opened up their hearts, opened up their minds, and came back from their trip as a unit, a couple, a formidable force of nature. Both members of the couple walked a little bit straighter, both knew a little bit more about the world and this person they had chained their life too, and both now carried a certain solidity that had been lacking before. In fact, Jane and Charles Bingley were firmly of the opinion that between the two of them, they could almost make one Lizzie Bennett or Fitzwilliam Darcy.

After their interlude at the lake, they traveled to introduce Mrs. Bingley to their relations in the North, and then finally returned to their own environs early in the new year. Being anxious to see Mrs. Collins and little Abbie before returning to Netherfield, and being appraised of a rumor that Darcy might be at Rosings as well, they decided a stop in Kent on the way home was in order.

* * *

Elizabeth Bennet's journey did not _start_ with a marriage, but it shifted its course. She had been quite happy to stand up for her best friend Anne, and did truly feel that she might just have had a good impact on the woman. She was nowhere near proud enough to take all the credit for Anne's recovery and her eventual happiness, but she felt she could claim at least a little. Anne had been sick and declining before Elizabeth came to visit, and now she was robust and marrying. In an introspective mood while lying in her bed, listening to the noises coming from Anne's chambers that matched noises she had heard before from the servant's attics, she reflected that she was quite happy with the situation. Nobody knew if Anne would survive or thrive in her new life. Elizabeth was nowhere naïve enough to not believe Anne's assertion that her health had been declining before she met Mr. Read, but she thought Anne had as good a chance of happiness as any. Anne's husband was quite satisfied, Anne was satisfied, and Elizabeth even thought that some months hence when she actually learned about it, both Lady Catherine and even the ever-noisy Miss Abbie must be satisfied. Elizabeth of course had no idea that her sister Jane was now Mrs. Bingley, and it would be some months before that intelligence might work its way through the war‑torn waters of the Atlantic and her confused and ever-changing direction to her.

After Elizabeth's startling discovery that she was no longer employed, but had a settlement, Mr. Hopkinson read to her the actual contract Lady Catherine had written, and Elizabeth gasped in astonishment. How in the world was it possible? The amounts were such that she thought Anne's illness was hereditary, and her mother was insane. Somehow, Lady Catherine had determined that Elizabeth Bennet was to be Anne's salvation, and made sure that the lady would be taken care of for the rest of her life. Elizabeth had not the slightest idea how to deal with her new fortune. She would have to make several schools to even make a dent in it.

The month following the wedding also brought a physical journey. It would ordinarily take about two to three weeks to make it from New York to Ohio, but since this was also the couple's wedding trip, and it was the middle of winter, they took six weeks, arriving around the middle of December. They stayed at the finest inns, and were not distressed if they were stuck in one town for a week. There was much to be seen, and they could take the easiest trails if the weather was nasty, or the most picturesque trails when not. One would think that the blind would not enjoy scenery, but Elizabeth had long learned to appreciate the ambience of a place, and to enjoy the stories she could hear from travelers, and even to live a bit vicariously through descriptions of her comrades.

Travel through the Appalachian Mountains would sometimes be impossible and might have made the journey even longer, but the mildness of that winter allowed them through a pass with a bit of rough travel that Elizabeth enjoyed much more than Anne. She had eventually learned to travel inside a coach without extreme distress, but still preferred her old trick of having herself strapped to a footman's perch or even sitting beside the coachman. It was the closest she thought she was likely to ever get to her beloved crow's nest.

The journey, the clean air, the bouncing over every pothole in Eastern New York and the Ohio Territory, her surprisingly candid conversations with the footmen riding with her all lead her to reflect that her life was now her own to do as she chose.

Elizabeth felt like she had made a good clean break with the last dregs of the unhappiness of the past with her untoward letter to Mr. Darcy. He was a good man, and she wished him well, although she thought she might suffer pangs of regret over not seeing him again from time to time. She was sensible enough to not predict whether she would ever return to England or not; but it seemed less and less likely, at least in the next few years. She could not imagine braving a ship by herself through the war-torn Atlantic, nor was she willing to travel overland to the Canadas, so she was quite fixed here at least for the duration of the war.

Their arrival in Ohio sent her onto another journey. Mr. Read, with the permission and encouragement of his wife, started involving her more and more in his business affairs right from the beginning. At first, he just relied on her uncanny hearing to try to ferret out associates who might be less than forthright. He soon found that she had not only her special abilities, but she also just plain had a good head on her shoulders. As he started telling her more and more of his business, he found that she remembered nearly everything and could put together associations between disparate conversations in completely unexpected ways. The three would sometimes talk well into the night, and between Elizabeth and Anne, they frequently had much better answers to problems of business than he had any right to expect. The three turned out to be a formidable team, and Elizabeth thought they might very well be quite happy, and very productive and even important in this new territory that they were helping to build.

As winter gradually turned to Spring, Elizabeth found a great deal of contentment in her new situation. She and Anne had immediately set up several schools within a day or two's journey from their home, she was becoming more and more immersed in their business and their daily life, and she found that with time and practice, her music changed from a chore to a joy, both for herself and for all her companions. Mr. Read had found a good master for instruction, and she dedicated hour after hour to practice, particularly when the practice quit being quite so frustrating, and especially when it started becoming joyful.

As spring advanced, and the fields of the Ohio Territory started to show their early efforts for the next crop, Elizabeth felt true contentment and happiness.

Easter services found Elizabeth extremely thankful for all the bounty that life had given her, and not the slightest concern that her loss of sight meant a loss of her life. She might well never marry, but she would be content, and if Anne's frequent attendance to the chamber pot of a morning was of any significance, she thought she might well enjoy the supreme benefits of being an honorary aunt before the start of winter.

Yes, Elizabeth Bennet's journey was not at and end per se, but it had delivered her to a place where she was safe, happy and content. She lived a life entirely free of regrets or vexation, and if just once in a while, late at night, alone in her bed she might occasionally miss the company and conversation of a certain gentleman from Derbyshire, the thought never survived to the light of day… well, almost never.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy found that after he had delivered his cousin to the care of Miss Lucas, he was at a bit of a loose end so he began a journey of introspection. He was back at Pemberley, anxiously reading each note that came from Miss Lucas about his cousin's condition, and resolutely resisting the temptation to ride to the lodge and scream at the man until he understood him. He quietly and carefully examined how he might remove the Colonel from the joined guardianship of his sister should it be necessary, and he took care of the estate business that was his lifeblood.

November brought very heavy rainfall, which in turn produced a bit of flooding and some damaged tenant's cottages. This was nothing new or exciting… it happened every few years, and each time they tried to prevent the next one so at least he did not have the same tenants flooding over and over. There were the preparations for the care of the fields for the winter, making sure everything was prepared for the spring planting, and seeing that any lingering issues were addressed. Winter was a time of renewal and rebuilding, and a bit of rest before the work of the next season was to be undertaken.

Darcy also spend time working on his investments. He forefathers had built Pemberley on many years of efficiently managing agricultural production through good and bad times, but it required careful diligence and attention. There were a good number of _formerly profitable_ estates in England, where the owners through neglect, changing markets, inattention or worse yet, a wastrel of an heir had lost their profitability. In an odd twist of fate, the war on the continent had driven up agricultural prices, so while his cousin the Colonel was suffering pain and death and war, Darcy was reaping record profits. The irony was not lost on him, but he was also aware that hundreds of tenants and villagers depended on his decisions, and the same profits that made him so wealthy flowed to ever increasing prosperity for everyone within his sphere. He reaped the profits at the top of the pyramid, but all those below him depended on his good stewardship.

Darcy also spent some goodly amount of time thinking of the future. His journey from his past to his future was certainly not set, but he did know that he could not go on as he was forever. Centuries of Darcys demanded he expand the estate, expand his benevolence, expand his efforts, insure a good future for both his heirs and Derbyshire as a whole _._ He considered raising sheep versus crops. Investing in mining or timber. Investing in new things such as canals or steam engines. All of these things took time, and effort. Like it or not, much of this was done in the clubs and card rooms of London, and he had a duty to be as well informed as he could possibly be, and to spend his money wisely for future generations.

Future generations… future generations… future generations…

Whether it was through some sort of mental obstinacy, lack of attention to other parts of his life, or simple inattention might never be known, but the fork in his journey, his crossroads of his life occurred to him in the middle of the night as he woke up with a single remembered phrase bouncing around and around in his head. He had no idea if he had been dreaming the phrase over and over, or whether he had woken up and started thinking it over and over while still a bit muddled, or whether the thought had been patiently waiting in his mind for months for him to notice and his mind and soul finally got fed up and decided to pound it into his consciousness. Either way, he was woken in the middle of the night, about two months after delivering his cousin into the care of Miss Lucas, with one memory bouncing around and around in his head.

The memory was clear. It was the last thing Jane Bennet said to him on the day she had been accosted by his cousin.

 _"Well sir, I ask because I am curious about exactly how much time you have spent in conversation with my sister Lizzy."_

The thought would not go away. He had spent perhaps a dozen or maybe two dozen hours with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and in that time, she had taught him perhaps more than most of his teachers at Eaton and Cambridge. Caroline Bingley had prematurely ended the association, and he had tried his best to do the gentlemanly thing and no longer importune the Bennet sisters, and yet… and yet… and yet, he could not _quite_ put her out of his mind. She was always there, always lurking around the periphery.

Darcy jumped out of bed, and decided to truly think all the way through what his mind was trying to tell him. It suddenly struck him that his actions of the past year or more were _fundamentally different_ from before. Even when it came to his estate, he was now a better master. The deals that were made in clubs and cardrooms were now more possible because of what the lady taught him. His life in society when he could no longer avoid balls, soirees and the like were much easier now that she had taught him how to be more social… or at least less unsocial. Even his consideration of all the fundamentals of how Pemberley operated were now changed by seeing what she could do without her sight, and without complaining about her troubles. He had no idea how many times he had asked himself, ' _what would Elizabeth do?'_ , and then done exactly whatever thought came to mind, but it was substantial.

Darcy spent several hours sitting in his dressing gown in front of the fire thinking about all that he remembered. He spent his hard morning ride on his hideously expensive stallion thinking about it. He spent the rest of the morning, and all of luncheon and all of the next few days thinking about it, until he finally came to the most obvious and natural conclusion. It was so obvious, he really wanted to smack his head at his own stupidity.

 _'I am a_ _much_ _better man after a dozen or two hours of exposure to Elizabeth Bennet. How much better might I be after a year, or a lifetime?'_

He had been pondering this thought for some time, when he was interrupted by a footman, bearing a letter on a tray, apparently from his Aunt Catherine. He very reluctantly put his thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet away for a time, although now that he was aware of how much she had been floating around his mind this past year, he had to admit that it would be some time before she left his conscious thoughts entirely.

* * *

 _Darcy,_

 _I received this letter from Anne, along with the news that she recently married an American and plans to move to a place called Ohio. He is a man of business, apparently quite prosperous and influential in the Americas. I have no idea whether to be inordinately pleased with Elizabeth, or extremely vexed. Anne's letter just bursts with happiness, so I imagine I shall celebrate the former. It would never have occurred to me that I could accept the heir of Rosings giving it up for a man, much less an American with equanimity, but I surprisingly find myself celebrating her happiness. A year ago, I was not at all certain of her survival, and now she thrives. I shall take what I can get._

 _In a bit of odd impertinence, Anne included a letter that she is not only unwilling to enlighten me about, but apparently unable, as it was constructed out of her purview. She has no idea of the contents. It is from EB. I leave it to you to decide whether to read it or not._

 _I would be pleased if you might attend me at Rosings in the next month or two, so we may discuss what to do about the inheritance. I have some ideas, but seek your council._

 _Catherine de Bourgh_

* * *

Burning with curiosity, Darcy vacillated between savoring the experience of holding an actual letter from Elizabeth Bennet in his hand, and his burning desire to see what it said. The latter impulse won the day quite handily.

* * *

 _30 November 1812  
Cleveland, Ohio Territory_

 _Mr. D,_

 _I hope you will excuse the impropriety and impertinence of this note, as well as its unorthodox delivery. You need have no fear that I expect anything of you, nor that I will be renewing our acquaintance, but my conscience demands that I speak, and I hope that your sense of justice will demand that I be heard._

 _This note is private and neither my companion, nor my usual secretary Mr. H are privy to its contents. You probably do not know, but we have been setting up schools here in America for the past year. We have more than 150 students under our tutelage, and I am inordinately proud of every one of them. I have coerced a dozen of my students into writing a paragraph at a time, and I must hope that their efforts are at least an improvement over your friend, Mr. B._

 _The purpose of this letter is to offer you an apology. In our last interaction, you and your friend Mr. B were trying to act as true gentlemen and offer apologies for acts that happened in your presence but were neither your fault nor your responsibility. Neither myself, nor my sister JB were willing to listen to you. I suffered an attack of the vilest kind under the same roof where you resided, and my emotions were not capable of acting a lady at the time, but I had no reason to take it out on you. Perhaps Mr. B was responsible for not reeling in his relations, but_ _you_ _sir, were quite without fault._

 _In my best hope, this incident will have left your mind many months ago, and you will find this letter a simple finish to an incident that is of no particular importance. While that is my hope, it is not my belief. According to everything I have observed, and everything your cousin Miss DB says, you are far too much of a gentleman to be satisfied with how things ended, and perhaps at one time even felt some responsibility. I believe my father, Mr. B, probably scolded you most vigorously for things that were not your fault, and for that, as well as my own unladylike behavior, I must apologize._

 _As you are probably aware, your cousin ADB has recently exchanged her surname for that of Mrs. R, and her previous reasonable contentment with my company for true happiness with a man who truly loves and esteems her as much as she returns the sentiment. By the time you read this, the happy event will have taken place and we will be well on our way to her new home, ready to take up our permanent place in American society. I doubt I will see you again, and that has been the impetus for writing this untoward letter. I could no longer bear the thought that you might be somewhere in the world believing I think ill of you or your friend, Mr. B._

 _With much time to think (it has been a year after all, and it took a month to write this letter with a dozen scribes), I have been able to reflect on the entirety of our acquaintance. From the very first moments of our association, I almost constantly impinged on your privacy with complete lack of regard for manners, propriety or your own feelings. I know I dragged you through many conversations you would just as soon have skipped, yet you never complained, nor in any way, in word or deed showed how much it must have disturbed or annoyed you. In retrospect, I believe that you were being the consummate gentleman, and simply treated one of your inferiors with far more kindness and civility than I warranted, and for that as well I thank you. I imagine it must have been unbearably tedious._

 _On the very last day of my stay at N, two incidents of similar nature but very different magnitudes occurred. The first was a remark I accidentally overheard in the breakfast room about the Bennet sisters' chances of marrying well. It annoyed me considerably at the time, but further reflection has convinced me that you did nothing especially wrong. In fact, all you did was repeat nearly verbatim something I told you myself not five minutes after I accosted you at that first assembly, and in fact, your comments are completely unremarkable, being simple statements of fact. Considering the consequence of your social circles, there is in fact very little chance of my sisters marrying men of consequence, as we both well know. I find myself unable to censure you for that statement in retrospect. It was perhaps not the kindest thing said at the table as that distinction goes to Mr. B, but it was not overly critical and I should not be so missish._

 _The second incident was terrible indeed in every way. It was not only the most hurtful words I have ever heard anyone utter, let alone direct at me; but it was also physically painful. I seriously damaged my leg tripping over a table. The bruise was quite painful, and I even got a fairly large splinter driven into my leg. I did not walk properly for weeks, and carried a slight limp for months. However, due to my stubborn nature, it me took me some time to admit that_ _you did nothing wrong_ _except exist in the same room where a nasty piece of snake meat and her sister were doing their best to destroy the reputations of the entire female sex. While I was unwilling to admit it at the time, your actions in the immediate aftermath and the next morning were entirely the actions of a gentleman, and I cannot find a single fault. You tried your best to right a wrong that was not even your offense, and my sister J and I did not even give you a chance to show your true colors. I have been encouraging my sister J to renew her acquaintance with you and Mr. B for some time, but have no indication that she has done so or ever intends to._

 _And so, Mr. D, I most humbly offer my apologies. I realize I am being repetitive but it is difficult to keep track of what I have said previously and what I have not, so I hope you will excuse my rambling. As I said before, I hope rather than believe that this entire incident has faded from your memory some time past, and that would not be in accordance with the true gentleman you are. I do not offer you absolution, as you have committed no offense. I simply offer an end to the matter, and hope that in the unlikely event we should ever meet again, that we may begin anew as indifferent acquaintances._

 _Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness._

 _E.B._

* * *

 _A/N: There you have it. Not a single bit of dialogue, unless you count letters. This chapter was pure exposition, which I would usually disdain. We are probably about 5 big chapters from the end._

 _Wade_


	12. Count No Evil

After 1 month of treating Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte Lucas was reasonably satisfied with his recovery from the injuries to his body, but not so much with the injuries to his soul. The man vacillated between any number of moods, he woke up Charlotte and at least one of the servants with nightmares nearly every night, and he had a number of what Sister Mary called _personas_. He could be the amiable, charming, well-spoken man one moment, and a taciturn, morose wild tempered man the next.

During that month, Charlotte wrote to Sister Mary back in the hospital in London, and had received advice on how to go about trying to drag the man out of the black pit of despair that he seemed to be locked in. Charlotte considered all the advice that she had received from Sister Mary, and was as well in nearly daily contact with Mr. Darcy. She eventually determined that the General's idea that the Colonel would be recovered in one month was wildly optimistic. The man seemed to be vacillating between the personalities of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy on an hourly basis.

After 2 months of treating Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte Lucas was well on her way to trying every tactic that had ever been suggested by anybody, and not entirely satisfied with results. In fact, the phrase _not entirely satisfied_ understated the case by nearly an order of magnitude. In reality, she was extremely frustrated, and yet she soldiered on.

After 3 months of treating Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte Lucas was becoming ever more vexed with her lack of progress.

On a bright, unseasonably warm and dry morning, she sat down on a small covered veranda just outside of the hunting lodge to write yet another letter to Sister Mary, back at the hospital in London. Charlotte worried that she was using up too much of the sister's time with one lone patient when she had many other duties to deal with, but the two women had grown to greatly esteem and respect each other, and they had a vigorous exchange of ideas, different treatments, different tactics to take with her patient. Sister Mary assured her that she was enjoying the exchange, and that it was no trouble or bother whatsoever, so they continued.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's physical wounds had long healed, and aside from the fact that he could no longer yell like a drill sergeant, he was mostly recovered. He would always have a scar on his neck, so he would never again venture in public without a well tied cravat. The gentleman would never talk quite properly either, but Charlotte reflected that, should his worst problem in life be the fact that he was a quiet and reserved man, it would be quite an improvement over being a dead man.

She had only gotten a good start on her letter, when she was interrupted by the object of her reverie.

* * *

 _Pemberley, Derbyshire  
Dear Sister Mary,_

 _For three months now, I have tried every persona I have been able to think of, and I have taken a stab at every treatment we have managed to discuss. At the moment, my most common personas include Rage, Frustration, Vexation, Annoyance, Exasperation and primarily Dissatisfaction._

 _I have tried being the friend, the lover, the taskmaster, all to no avail. Nothing that I do seems to shake my patient. He vacillates between very gentlemanly behavior, disdain, anger, staring through me as if I were not there, and many other reactions. If I thought any of these were the true man buried underneath all of his hurt and injury, I would #$% &**(&%$$#ERDFGT%TRF JH KUYTTT^^_P()%^ *(^&%& OGHIU^)(*^&_P_()*_)(*&U_

* * *

Charlotte practically screamed in frustration as her letter was yanked out of her hand by none other than the object of her discussion… or at least, the closest to a scream of frustration one was likely to get out of the ever dependable and steady Charlotte Lucas.

"What do we have here, Miss Lucas? Writing your favorite little nurse back in the hospital? Trying to work out what to do with your recalcitrant little soldier boy? Think you are somehow going to repair me in some way? Do you think you have any chance? Your conceit knows no bounds!"

Charlotte ground her teeth in silent frustration before answering.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, that letter is private. Though it concerns you, that does not mean it is yours to read. I will have _my_ letter back, sir."

"No no no no no no no no! What have we here? This I must see? How do you and your little band of sisters look at us men who are actually putting ourselves in risk of our lives to give you your comfortable existence. You who will never face the slightest bit of danger in your entire lives are not the ones who will determine my fate."

Charlotte looked at the man in front of her with even more frustration than usual, but managed to rein in her temper a little bit… but it took some real effort.

"No danger! **No danger you say**! It is easy enough for you to say that, sir, obviously having not the slightest idea what you are talking about. A few of you gentlemen go off to play your war games on the continent, while most of you are content to simply risk your life at games of horsemanship and chance. Sooner or later though, you all want children, and sooner or later your wives frequently die for it. A very small number of you men risk your lives for the betterment of our society, while every single woman risks her life every time she goes to the marriage bed. _I will not stand for this disparagement of my sex, Colonel_. We do all that you men ask of us, and frequently more… and we do a while we are putting up with both men and children, who by the way seem mostly indistinguishable. You have no right to your opinion, sir. "

The Colonel startled at her sudden demeanor, apparently completely convinced of her placid nature, but then recovered himself and merely sneered at her in disdain. Apparently, she was getting the _arrogant Colonel_ today.

"I think you need not worry about childbirth, Miss Lucas. Spinsters rarely have that sort of problem, and you are a spinster in the making if I have ever seen one."

Things went back and forth more or less in this vein for what may have been five minutes, with each exchange becoming more alarming than the last. Charlotte Lucas may have been the most even-tempered woman that ever lived, but _even she had her limits_. The Colonel had vacillated between being simply frustrating and being downright mean-spirited, but she, despite all evidence to the contrary, believed that somewhere deep down inside, so deep as to be impossible to detect, was the honorable gentleman who'd gone off to war so many years ago. Whether he would ever be seen again was another question, but she just could not believe that he was as bad of a man as he appeared to be based on what he was saying. However, she had her limits.

For a moment during their repartee she wondered if she was feeling a sense of honor and duty towards the gentleman who had given so much, or whether she was simply a victim of her own pride, vanity and stubbornness, unwilling to quit with the task unfinished. In the end, results were the only thing that really mattered, but in the same way that results on the battlefield might be the result of good impulses, bad impulses, skill, planning or just plain luck and stubbornness; Charlotte felt like she had spent three months trying to do her best, and almost felt like she could see success just around the corner. At times it felt like it was so close she could taste it, and at other times, it seemed to slide farther away with every word.

She continued, "You made say hurtful things all you want Colonel, but you shall not affect the rest of my life. Certainly, you will never have much effect on it once I am done with you. I will finish my duty just as you have done, and then I fully intend to never see you again, but make no mistake Colonel – I will finish my duty."

The Colonel looked at her with a bit of a sneering expression, before he made his most scathing reply.

"You might as well leave now Miss Lucas, since you have already failed in your endeavor… whatever it was. I will either live or die, but will not be through your intervention."

There was something about the way the man said those words; something about his tone of voice; something about how he knew _exactly_ what to say to vex her the most, and did not scruple to do so. There was something about the way he seemed to enjoy provoking her. Whatever it was, that last little arrogant statement, much like the proverbial straw that broke the burro's back, was _just one thing _too many. Nearly anybody in Meryton, or anybody in the hospital in London, or just about anybody who knew Charlotte would assure you that she did not have a temper, but though it was rarely exercise, it was certainly there.

" **AAAAJJJJYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEE** "

With a frustrated cry of rage, and a scream that was heard all the way through the house and had every servant within half a mile running towards them, Charlotte picked up her favorite work box that was sitting on the table next to her. This was the box that her mother had given her when she was five years old and she carried around all the days of her life. This box was probably her favorite possession in the world, but it was unfortunately right at hand. She picked it up and smashed it against the side of the Colonel's head with all the force of every bit of pain, rage, vexation and frustration the insufferable man had built up inside her over three very long months.

The wooden box splintered into pieces, some of the splinters being driven into the side of the Colonel's head, and others falling to the ground. The Colonel fell to the porch like a sack of grain, while Charlotte stomped away from the house practically killing the soles of her boots, cussing and screaming like a drunken sailor.

Barrow ran out the front door just in time to see the Colonel unconscious on the side of the porch, bleeding profusely but not worryingly from the side of his head. There were two needles stuck in the side of his ear, and a splinter driven all the way through his cheek. The remnants of the poor box were laying underneath him, and all Barrow could see of Miss Lucas was her back as she stomped away, screaming words that even he in his vast experience had never heard.

After 1 mile, Charlotte managed to calm down almost enough to quit doing her best to destroy her boots, and she even managed to moderate her foul language, which she had learned from the best at the hospital. She even got to the point where she only sounded like a fishmonger's wife, rather than a prostitute. During that mile she caught her dress on a tree branch and simply ripped it away, leaving a surprisingly big tear in her skirt. Now she not only sounded disreputable, but she looked disreputable, but she was at least calmed down enough so that she was only talking to herself instead of screaming.

After 2 miles, Charlotte managed to slow down from almost a run to more of a fast walk. It was a pace that the younger Elizabeth Bennett would have used to eat up the miles, but Charlotte had not moved at such a pace for many years, nor did she ordinarily prefer to. During that mile, she had managed to catch her dress on one more rock on the way by, so it was looking even worse than it had to start with, but at least she was now aware enough to avoid future rocks and trees.

After 3 miles, Charlotte finally stopped talking to herself like a crazy person, although she could not revert to her ordinary silence. She was walking up a slight incline, and a quick look at her watch indicated that she had been gone for around an hour. She was on a path that she had never seen before, but she knew the way to Pemberley, and she was traveling towards it like an arrow fired from a bow. In her distress, she had been well aware that the route away from this horrid man was through Pemberley and back to her own life. Mr. Darcy would see her to where she needed to go.

After 4 miles, Charlotte started walking through a more attended part of the park, which she had heard was 10 miles around. The path joined the carriageway, and started climbing up a small hill, with well-groomed and tended trees on both sides, and even some obviously cultivated flowers here and there. The carriageway wound upward towards a small promontory, and Charlotte slowed down even more, but continued relentlessly towards Pemberley and freedom from that horrid man.

After 5 miles, Charlotte reached the top of a small hill, and as she crested it, she encountered a wide spot where carriages on the way to Pemberley obviously pulled over, so she assumed it was probably a good place to see the view. She ambled over to the other side of the promontory, at a pace that was slightly more ladylike, and as she reached the edge, she saw her first view of Pemberley itself. She had arrived at night all those months ago, and gone directly to the hunting lodge, so in all this time, she had never actually even seen the main house.

The view was breathtaking, and it was soothing enough that it even tamped down her violent mood a little bit. She had calmed down enough that she believed she was satisfied she had only knocked the Colonel unconscious, whereas for most of the previous five miles she had really wished she had killed him.

Charlotte stood stock still for a moment, and just stared at the visage long enough for her mood to improve, and long enough for her anger over the Colonel to abate somewhat. _Charlotte was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste._ Yes, there was no doubt, Pemberley was magnificent! Mr. Darcy had a certain amount of entitlement to whatever pride he managed to carry around with himself. His ancestors had done remarkably well for themselves, and from everything she could see, it appeared that he was a diligent and conscientious master.

The place she was standing was not the very top of the hill, and Charlotte noticed a small climb right next to the overlook that was steep, but barely manageable, and it had what looked like a nice isolated cliff‑like shelf around thirty or forty feet up. Charlotte climbed up the ledge, only snagging her dress two more times. She tore enough of her petticoat on a passing rock that she once again started getting ready to scream in frustration, but instead simply pulled it off and left it sitting there.

When she finally reached the top, she went over to the very edge, closed her eyes and felt the sunshine on her face and the breeze blowing her hair. Being as far from propriety as it seemed possible to get, she threw her bonnet over the edge, pulled the pins out of her hair and let it fall, then sat down with her feet hanging over the edge, just staring at Pemberley as the sun neared the horizon.

* * *

When she had sat on the cliffside for 1 hour, Charlotte had almost managed to sort out the idea that it really did not matter if she had tried for treble the amount of time the general it asked for out of honor, duty, or stubbornness. In the end, the only two things that mattered where that she had given it her best effort, and that she had failed.

When she had sat on the cliffside for 2 hours, she managed to work her away around to trying to decide which direction she would go when she came back down. She sat staring at her two hands in contemplation for many moments at a time. She pictured in her mind exactly what she would do upon her descent. She would climb down the cliffside exactly the inverse of how she had come up. She would take one last look at Pemberley from the exact spot where she had first viewed it some time back. Then she would turn around and walk back the way she had come until she came to the carriageway. When she got to the carriageway, she might turn to her left towards Pemberley, and she would be at the main house within the hour. She knew in her own heart that if she ever got to Pemberley itself, that would only be because she had finally given up.

If she followed her right hand, she would turn back down the path, return to the lodge, and see if she could work out some other way to finish her duty.

When she had sat on the cliffside for 3 hours, she decided that she was both woolgathering, and starting to get quite hungry, but not hungry enough to leave yet. Her last meal had been when she broke her fast, very much earlier in the day.

The sunset was a gorgeous array of reds, oranges and violets, as if Pemberley were so important to the world that the sun itself felt compelled to honor its presence. Charlotte just sat there, wondering what in the world she was going to do.

When she had sat on the cliffside for 4 hours, watching the last rays of the sun disappear, she finally concluded that she would have to go down, pick the appropriate hand, and go meet her fate. With a heavy sigh, she climbed slowly to her knees, very nearly falling off the edge of the cliff, which would have forestalled any need to finally make a decision, and worked her way over to climb back down.

It turned out that even without her petticoat, climbing down was a lot harder than climbing up. She imagined if she had asked the young Lizzie Bennett before she lost her eyesight, she would have been able to tell her that, but this was not something that Charlotte already knew. She did eventually get back down with only a stumble or two, stood up, dusted herself off, turned around and walked over back to her original viewpoint to make her decision.

"Mr. Darcy!"

"Miss Lucas."

Charlotte wondered why she was surprised that Mr. Darcy was standing there waiting for her. It seemed obvious that a servant no doubt took a horse to Pemberley many hours previously, and it seemed likely that Mr. Darcy had known exactly where she was the whole time.

What was surprising was that he stood on the ground as if he had been planted there at the dawn of time, and would be happy to wait there until the end of time. He showed no impatience, no reserve, no sign of any distress whatsoever. Looking down she noticed a few tracks in the dust that indicated that he had been there quite some time. His vantage point had a very good view of where she was sitting up on the cliffside, but he had been gentleman enough to leave her to her ruminations. The simple courtesy of doing absolutely nothing might have been the nicest thing anybody had done for her in some time, and she was very appreciative.

"Mr. Darcy, I apologize for taking up so much of your day, but I do appreciate the fact that you left me to my own devices. I needed… reflection."

"Miss Lucas, there is no need to thank me. You have done far more than anybody has asked of you, you have done it well and with aplomb, and frankly the fact that you only injured my cousin instead of killing him is very much to your credit. Nobody heard the very last conversation, but Salina and Barrow have overheard enough to know that he is a very difficult patient."

Charlotte just nodded her head in understanding, and waited patiently. However, Mr. Darcy seemed a very patient man, in no hurry to go rattling on like other young men did, so he gave her a few minutes. When he saw that she was not very inclined to speak, he finally asked.

"Miss Lucas, you have done all that anybody is asked of you. If you will come to Pemberley tonight, I will see you delivered wherever you need to go."

Charlotte looked at him, and nodded in appreciation, but apparently, he was not finished yet.

"You actually need go nowhere at all, Miss Lucas. You are welcome at Pemberley for as long as you should choose to stay."

Looking carefully at the man, Charlotte had to have a bit more appreciation for him. She knew what he had done for Jane, and for the relatively small service that she had provided for his cousin, she knew that he would in fact allow her to stay at Pemberley for years or decades if she so chose, or he would happily introduce her to other men of standing. He was not the man for her certainly, but he was very much a man for some woman. She thought he might even have been a good match for Lizzy, if she had not gone to America.

"Mr. Darcy, I had decided upon the cliff face that I would come to this spot, and choose left or right. Left for Pemberley, home and defeat; right to go back to the lodge and try once more."

Mr. Darcy walked up directly in front of her, and very forwardly reached out to take hold of both of her hands. Propriety be damned, neither of them were wearing gloves. In fact, she was dirty, sweaty and tired, and was not even wearing a petticoat, a fully intact dress, hair pins or a bonnet – but she felt that they had an understanding between themselves.

They stood there staring at each other for a few moments, feeling a bond of friendship that had been built up over the previous months of visits, letters, and endless fretting about his cousin. It was obvious that he was simply awaiting her decision, and then he would know how to act.

At long last, Charlotte released her left hand and let it fall to the side, squeezed his right hand in a gesture of comfort that would be more appropriate for a lover but she had no fear would be misinterpreted, and then looked to the right towards the hunting lodge.

Mr. Darcy nodded acceptance of her decision, along with what she thought was an expression indicating that he would perfectly well have accepted either one.

Ever the gentleman, Mr. Darcy offered her his arm, and led her around onto the carriageway. When they got to the top at a particular point, he took off his hat and waved it a few times. A few minutes later, a groomsman rode up with a small phaeton. Mr. Darcy handed Charlotte up, casually mentioned that his groom was a man to be trusted to keep his silence, carefully covered her lap with the rug, climbed up beside her, snapped the whip and brought her back to her next encounter with her duty, her destiny, her unfinished task, the bane of her existence.

* * *

When they arrived back at the hunting lodge, Salina indicated that they had saved a bit of supper, and led them off into a small breakfast room to eat. Barrow joined them, and reported that he had pulled all the splinters and needles out of the Colonel, patched him up, gave him some laudanum, and stuffed him into bed. He had not the vaguest idea what would happen next, so Charlotte thanked him for seeing to her duties for the day, and bade him go to his own bed and his own wife.

Mr. Darcy watched all this with nods of appreciation at her decisiveness. He once again appreciated her qualities, while silently assuring himself that she would _not_ be a mere Colonel or General's wife. This was a lady born to be mistress of a household, and mother to a flock of probably well‑behaved children.

"Miss Lucas, the servants have done their duty well today. Perhaps I will stay and assist through the night."

Charlotte gave him a look he had learned meant that argument was pointless before replying.

"No Mr. Darcy, you need to go home. Things are well under control here. I apologize for causing you any distress or wasting your day, but I now have things well in hand."

"It would be my honor to stay, Miss Lucas."

Charlotte looked at them carefully, judging how much she really needed to say, and finally told him, "Mr. Darcy, your presence is like trying to put out a fire with oil, kindling and matches. The Colonel reacts badly to you. Let me deal with him."

Darcy did not particularly like that situation, but could find no real argument against it, and he had in fact put the Colonel in Miss Lucas's care. Until she relinquished that claim, or he found some reason to be dissatisfied with her, which seemed so unlikely as to be impossible, he would follow her guidance.

"Very well, Miss Lucas. I will abide."

With that he picked up his hat and his coat, went back out to the stable to take his horse back from the groom, and rode the phaeton back to Pemberley.

* * *

Despite the exhaustion of the day, sleep thoroughly eluded Charlotte, so she was awake when the Colonel started screaming. He wasn't actually screaming with a sound that could wake up most people. His voice had more or less recovered from his adventure with the rope sufficient to be able to talk, or perhaps even yell, but he could not really scream with any level of volume. She was quite certain that he was feeling all the terror of his fever dreams, but it was difficult to hear them any more than a dozen yards away.

Against the advice of all of the well-meaning men of the day, she had set her bedroom up right next to the Colonel's, and even went so far as to have Barrow move her bed to the opposite side of the wall the Colonel slept in. Salina was in the next room over, and Barrow was a few rooms down the hall. He was not willing to keep his wife anywhere near the Colonel, so he shared the duty of watching the Colonel with one of the other servants from Rosings. There was another small outbuilding a quarter‑mile away that was shared by their wives, and the men would take turns occupying the cabin.

Charlotte jumped out of bed, quickly donned her dressing gown, and strode down the hall to the Colonel's room. She fully expected to see one of the footmen up, or Salina, but it appeared that the Colonel had not made enough noise to wake any of them, so Charlotte made a decision. Her instructions for how to deal with the man were crystal clear, rock‑solid, unambiguous and reinforced by the authorities of everyone from the general to Mr. Darcy to the doctor. She was never to be alone with the man, never to jeopardize her safety, never to… never to… never to… never to actually have any chance of healing him. Was she to spend even more months trying the thing that had never worked before, or try something new?

Decision made, she walked into his room, where he was thrashing around in the blankets. The counterpane was half laying on the floor, half twisted around the gentleman, and half twisted in knots. He was sweating profusely, and letting out inarticulate little screams that could not quite seem to escape his throat.

Charlotte stared at him for a moment, thinking about waking him up, thinking about what she could do to try to help him, and finally decided to do something a little bit different.

Walking over to the bed, she took charge of the counterpane with all the authority of an upstairs maid, straightened the bed out, and covered him properly. He was still thrashing about, but at least he was not tied up in the bed linens like some giant snake.

That task done, she only thought about it for another moment, before she took off her dressing gown, lifted the counterpane, and climbed into the bed.

The Colonel was still thrashing, and moaning, and Charlotte simply started gently singing a lullaby that she learned from her great aunt, while gently pushing the hair out of his eyes and rubbing his head just like you would with a baby. It was the same song and the same motion she had used many years ago to rock the noisiest, fussiest and most ill‑tempered baby she had ever known to sleep. She had always assumed that someday Lizzy Bennet would repay the favor by singing the same song to her own children, but it was hard to say whether that would be the case or not. Any sensible man would snap up her friend in a heartbeat, but in her current state, she thought she only knew one sensible man and he was 4,000 miles from Elizabeth, and honor bound to leave her in peace.

The idea that the Colonel basically had to be reborn was not exactly a new idea, but it was new to Charlotte at the time, and she thought perhaps it might work. Further increasing her daring, she decided that she would put everything she had into this task. Why this particular man should get more attention than any other soldier, she had no idea. Why this particular man was so important to her, she had no idea. Why she was unwilling to simply give up and admit failure, she had no idea.

She had no idea on any of these things, but she did have an idea on how to deal with the man. She very slowly and carefully, acting just as you would with a spooked animal or a colicky baby, gradually worked her arm underneath his neck, and wrapped him in an embrace. He was actually a little bit too large to be embracing like a baby, and he was way too old to be listening to the cooing sounds that she was making, but whether it made sense or not, she had chosen her path and she would follow it unless he got violent.

Eventually, she managed to pull the gentleman over so that his head was tucked under her chin, nestled tightly into her bosom, while she simply held him as tightly she could and rocked him like a baby, still cooing, singing lullabies, and otherwise just trying to get him back to sleep. Why she was going to treat a battle-hardened Colonel like a colicky baby was _not_ an idea she wanted to delve very deeply into, but it seemed to be working.

Eventually, the Colonel's thrashing slowed down, then he stopped sweating, then he stopped screaming, and finally he fell into a deep restful sleep – perhaps the first of many months.

Charlotte had been watching for it carefully, eyeing the man as carefully as any naturalist would pay attention to some particular animal that he was studying, and prepared to take or leave as soon as he was fully asleep. The plan, once formed was perfection in its simplicity, and it probably even had a better than even chance of succeeding until she had fallen asleep herself.

* * *

Charlotte woke with a gasp as dawn shone through the windows. Unless it was particularly cold, the servants were not allowed into the room until they had been authorized, so at that point not a soul in the world knew what she had done. She was perfectly safe, her reputation perfectly intact, and she could simply go back to her room with none the wiser… well, none except the Colonel who was sitting there staring at her.

Neither of them had the vaguest idea what to do, so Charlotte simply dipped her head in a little semblance of a curtsy, slid out of the bed, grabbed her dressing gown and fled for the door.

* * *

By 9 o'clock, the Colonel had asked for a tray in his room, while Charlotte had followed her usual custom of eating in the breakfast room with the servants. She knew she was violating some type of proprietary bounds, but saw no purpose for setting up a bunch of extra work, when she needed to talk to all the servants anyway. There were few enough of them that they might never be particular friends, but they could see that they were all in this deal together, and eating separate meals just seemed silly.

By 10 o'clock, the Colonel was feeling more refreshed than he had in years. He broke his fast in his room, and then spent more than an hour working out the best way to make a cravat to hide his scars.

By 11 o'clock, the Colonel, feeling still surprisingly chipper considering how badly the previous day had gone, had Barrow change his bandage, poured a bit more gin on the wound, poured a little bit more gin down his throat, and took up one of the books Darcy had stacked in the corner.

By 12 o'clock, the Colonel had worked his way through several chapters in the book, and was starting to grow restless. He thought it was nigh on time to leave the room and face the Dragon, although, truth be told, Barrow had not left quite enough gin for that endeavor.

By 1 o'clock, the Colonel was bored to death, but still afraid to leave the room.

By 2 o'clock, the Colonel decided that he had survived Badajoz and Salamanca, so he should well be able to survive the breakfast parlor at a hunting lodge on the Pemberley estate with the ordinarily most stable woman he had ever met.

* * *

Charlotte Lucas was sitting at a table in the breakfast parlor, which was her favorite room in the house because it had just the right light, just the right table, a good chair to sit in, and all the things she needed. In this case, she had a pot of glue and a bunch of parchment laid on the table, and was attempting to put together the mortal remains of her poor little work box. She was going to miss that box, but she wanted to see if she could get some meager semblance of it that she could use to remind herself of the previous day, when she had nearly destroyed months and years' worth of effort by failing to control her temper. There was nothing like a box that had previously stood the test of time for years, should have stood the test of decades, and yet in one blinding bit of rage was turned into a bit of kindling that might or might not be able to be turned into something that could be used as an object lesson.

She was just in the process of trying to glue the sixth piece to a little group of five that she had managed to put together using thick parchment and glue, when she was most surprised to see a seventh piece sliding out of the edge of her vision, to go right up against its brethren. She saw the scarred hands that she was oh so familiar with after these months reach in directly between her two hands which were holding the ends down, to push the center of the box down flat onto the parchment. Between the four hands, they managed to almost resurrect half of the lid of the box.

Not a word was said as the Colonel reached for another piece, while Charlotte reached for another section of the box to try to put back together.

By 4 o'clock, the box was about halfway towards being as repaired as it was ever going to be, and two diligent workers had yet to say a single word to each other.

By 5 o'clock, the box was fully assembled, and Barrow had even managed to cleverly repair one of the hinges that Charlotte had assumed would be either beyond repair, or require a trip to a specialized blacksmith.

By 6 o'clock, still without a single word, the last surviving piece of the box was put together. All the needles had been cleaned thoroughly with gin, and there was some indication that at least a reasonable portion of the gin had been used for that purpose. All the pins, needles, thread and other work items were neatly organized in the box, just as they had been for nearly the previous 20 years.

Both diligent workers stood up, looked at the box with a certain amount of pride, and then nodded to each other in some type of tacit understanding. Without any words, they expressed their basic agreement.

 _'I will try.'_

 _'I will not give up on you.'_

* * *

No one will ever know whether applying the Colonel's head to a box full of needles or to the bosom of a pretty woman, or just a few hours of real sleep was what the Colonel needed; but either way, the corner was turned that day. He had pushed his caretaker to her absolute limit, and something inside of him either broke, or repaired itself, or just finally became exhausted. Perhaps he finally realized that if he managed to drive away the most sensible and patient woman in England, he would wind up a crazy old man, sitting next to the fire with a bunch of old dogs, talking to the dogs about how great he had been when he was something. It turned out that the survivor of so many battles, when it got right down to it, was not quite as enamored with the idea of just giving up when things got difficult as his previous behavior may have indicated.

There were no more midnight visits, clandestine or otherwise between the pair. The parts of the healing that required the Colonel to go back to some earlier point in his life and start over was done, and now, metaphorically he just had to grow back up.

The first day of repair in the box was the only day completely devoid of conversation. After that, they gradually got so they could talk about small unimportant things… the servants' tasks, what to have for dinner, observations of the weather, that sort of thing. Difficult subjects such as Darcy or Jane Bingley were embargoed by mutual unspoken agreement.

Gradually the relationship deepened a little bit, and eventually Charlotte managed to pry out of the man a little bit of what happened in Spain, much to her horror. She knew he was downplaying his experience, but what she did hear made her insides want to curl up in a ball and cry. She thought that she could carry a little bit of the load, but when it really got down to it, she was astonished just how much of a load the Colonel had in the first place.

* * *

Finally, a day came in early spring when Charlotte judged it was time for _the conversation_. They were walking around the small lake that abutted the hunting cottage. The lake was full of all types of waterfowl, and they were both showing off their knowledge by identifying different creatures, plants, and even animals if they could see them.

The Colonel had somewhat sheepishly offered his arm at the beginning of the walk, and Charlotte had somewhat sheepishly taken it. By then they were well used to communicating with small gestures, and this one had a very specific meaning. This was basically an acknowledgment that they were both very nearly indifferent acquaintances.

Through many more letters to Sister Mary, Charlotte had learned that she had a very good instinct for what to do. She needed all the best advice of all of the best men and women she could get, but when it came right down to it, there was always something that had to be different, something where you had to take a chance. Her climbing into the Colonel's bed had been the watershed event that turned a failed campaign into a victory. She had not had to repeat that event, and fact she did not think she _could_ repeat it, while retaining any modest semblance of her original task. Should she repeat it only one more time, then her interactions with the Colonel would take on an entirely new flavor, and it would be to benefit to neither.

On this morning, she thought it was probably time for her to lay down her last gauntlet.

"Colonel, do you feel like you have recovered your soul?"

The Colonel looked at her carefully, almost fearfully, and finally admitted, "I am not certain, Miss Lucas."

Charlotte was unsurprised by the answer, and replied, "It is time to be certain Colonel."

"How is it to be done?"

Charlotte laughed a little bit, and said, "Remember that this is ONLY AN ANALOGY Colonel, but it is very much like when a couple gets married. They do not know everything. In fact, they may know very little about each other, and most of what they think they know is probably wrong. But there comes a time in their relationship where they must decide. They have to _choose_ to stand up in front of their friends and family and declare themselves partners for life…that is a decision."

She looked at him to make sure he was not misinterpreting her analogy. She could have come up with some that were not so… volatile, but they were not as useful?

"Today Colonel, you must decide. I want to go back to the house, and you go to the stable. Get your horse saddled, and I want you to ride it towards the peaks as hard as you can. Ride it until it nearly flounders, and you find both man and beast very near your limits. After you've done that, slow down just a little bit and ride some more. Ride to the very top of the highest cliff you can find."

"And the object of this ride, Miss Lucas?"

"When you reach that point Colonel, it is time. Climb down from your horse, walk over directly next to the edge. Walk up to the very limit, where your toes are hanging over. Lift your arms up like a statue, feel the wind in your hair, feel the weight of the Earth under you, think about everything that has happened in your life, good or bad, and then _make a decision_. Decide front or back!"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Colonel, either go forward over the cliff and end this charade today – or walk backwards, get on your horse, come back here and start _living._ Those your two choices Colonel. If you decide on the former, make sure your horse is not tied up so he does not suffer your fate. But make no mistake Colonel, if you come back, I expect you to return a _man_ … not the shadow of a man who first came here. Your time as a patient is over. _It is time to decide._ Are we understood, sir?"

The Colonel stared at the lady for quite some time. He had no real idea what he would decide when the actual moment of decision came, but by god this was a woman. This was a woman that might be worth backing away from the cliff for. She had given him instructions, so he would follow them to the letter.

* * *

Darcy was sitting in the comfortable breakfast parlor with Miss Lucas, reading a book while she did some work while marveling at how well her broken box had been restored, and hoping that her broken friend might do the same. Mr. Darcy had offered that he could have a master craftsman make a new one exactly like the original if she preferred. Miss Lucas knew this was just protocol. If she wanted a different box he would make her the best box in England, but he did not expect her to make that choice, and she did not expect to make it. Nothing would ever take the place of this particular box.

After six hours, the Colonel returned with a glorious sunset at his back, and a decision in his heart.

Darcy asked, "Have you decided?"

"I have!"

"Are you ready for a challenge?"

The Colonel looked at his cousin quite carefully. Up to this point, since the moment he'd tried to end his life, just surviving one more day at a time, or even a few more hours had seemed like a big challenge to him. Darcy was implying something larger. Perhaps he was to go back to duty, or go back to a duty where he was only training soldiers or doing something else where he was unlikely to get a bunch of other men killed. Perhaps Darcy wanted to have him manage some small estate. They had talked about it over time, and Darcy had offered it any number of times.

"I believe I am ready, cousin. What is the task?"

Darcy, being a little bit cagey, replied, "We will discuss that when we get there."

The Colonel replied, "I will go along, but where is _'there'._ "

"We leave at first light tomorrow. You will know in a couple of days. I will not explain the plan more than once, so we need to get to the place where the rest of the participants are."

Everybody looked a bit surprised at this new-found plan of Darcy the Mad. Charlotte, beginning to feel that her task was done, started thinking about what would come next.

Darcy forestalled her a little bit, by adding, "We need you as well, Miss Lucas. Now more than ever. Might you indulge me for another little bit?"

Perhaps there was some woman in England who would turn down an earnest request from Fitzwilliam Darcy, but Charlotte Lucas was certainly not her.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Darcy."


	13. Confront No Evil

Happiness, for Jane Bennet, was the normal and natural state of being. All her life, no matter what life threw at her, she remained nearly universally happy. In her mother, Mrs. Francine Bennet, Jane had a perfect example of what a lifetime of being _not_ happy amounted to, and from a very early age she had naturally gravitated towards a different idea. In nearly every conceivable circumstance, she simply asked herself _'what would my mother do'_ and chose the opposite. While perverse, the system had yet to fail her. Mrs. Bennet was in fact not as unhappy as one would think, since she had made an art and sport of being unhappy, but the conundrum of actively seeking unhappiness just so she could enjoy her misery, was not a system that recommended itself to Jane.

Since childhood, Jane had been a very beautiful girl, which in her limited experience was more likely to cause unhappiness and vexation than happiness. She was never even certain if she _was_ beautiful, or if her mother had simply declared it with all the éclat of a proverb so often and so loudly it was universally taken as true by the four and twenty families as a defensive mechanism to avoid arguments.

Whether beautiful or not, Jane usually wished she was plainer, since beauty seemed to mostly attract the entirely wrong type of suitors, and her mother's habit of disparaging nearly everything about her other daughters would have been completely unbearable to someone with a flightier spirit. Through it all though, Jane bore it with grace and harmony. Her mother's constant lamentations, matchmaking, and self-induced crises had virtually no effect whatsoever on her.

Yes, all of Jane's life, the _only_ thing that could truly make her unhappy, vexed or angry was _anybody_ doing _anything_ to hurt her sister Elizabeth. She was as fiercely protective of her sister as a badger, despite the fact that her sister could perfectly well take care of herself. While she was happy and excited for the grand adventure Lizzy was on, though thoroughly disinclined to participate in such a scheme herself, she had been missing her sister dreadfully for over a year, but now things had changed so much that she was bursting with happiness from every part of her being. She was amazed she had not burned their little cabin to the ground with her happiness.

After what Jane _now_ considered a relatively minor unpleasant altercation on the path at Rosings, Jane had a secure future with a husband she loved more than life itself, and who returned the affections with equal vigor. Equally importantly, she and her sister Mary had secured the future for her mother, and all of her sisters. Her entire family was completely protected, with many layers built up an inch at a time. Her sister Mary's marriage alone would have been entirely sufficient to save the family should the worst happen to her father. Now she was married to a wealthy man, good friends with an even wealthier man, under the protection of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and as secure as a woman had any right to be.

As she prepared to leave her little bit of paradise she had shared with her husband, she had _even more_ reason to be happy because she had **A LETTER FROM LIZZY**. Upon seeing the post delivered by the old couple who took care of the cabin, Jane squealed in delight, jumped up and down and ran around in circles much to the delight of her husband, who like any red-blooded man found much to approve in the movements of his lovely wife. Jane had no idea how much it affected him, and how difficult it was for him to allow her a little bit of time to read her sister's letter, but such self‑knowledge would have had no effect on her happiness anyway, so it was probably for the best. At long last, **she had a letter from Lizzy. Elizabeth Bennet was back in contact.**

The letter was oddly formatted, taking up three full pages for what looked like it could have easily fit on one. It appeared to have had quite the journey to arrive at her doorstep, having been redirected at least four times. When she scanned the letter, she saw it was written in many hands, some of which were so bad as to make her husband's penmanship seem good.

Even her worry about her sister's existence in another continent on the other side of the ocean in the middle of a war zone did not worry Jane overly much, since it was difficult for her to imagine the possibility of anything bad happening to a force of nature like Elizabeth. However, the extreme tardiness of the letter would have given her a little bit of concern had she been willing to entertain any idea of risk.

When she opened the letter, and looked at the date, she gasped in surprise. The letter indicated that Lizzy was _woefully_ out of date. The letter was sent well before her marriage, and apparently traveled through most of the British Empire before arriving at her doorstep. Of course, with two wars on, she imagined she should be satisfied that the mail worked at all, let alone quickly and efficiently.

With restless anticipation, she carefully took a penknife to open the seal, and read the oddest‑looking letter she had ever seen.

* * *

 _My Dearest Jane,_

 _I hope you will excuse the rather unusual style of this letter. Since I am more or less an American now, I have taken up the mantle of inventor. I find there are things a wish to say that should be at least somewhat private, and even though I fully trust Mr. Hopkinson and my companion, I find that I just would like to be able to have a letter that no one is fully privy to. Since I have dozens of students under our school's tutelage, I have simply extended the writing lesson so that some of them write a paragraph at a time for me. I hope most of them will be reasonably legible, particularly this paragraph since it is being written by young Betsy Macintosh, who is giggling furiously as she writes. She has promised me faithfully that hers will be the very best paragraph of the entire piece, and the quality will be so good I shall be required to engage her as my new secretary._

 _We have so much momentous news that is hard to know where to begin. My companion, Miss Anne de Bourgh is very soon to be married to a very estimable man named Mr. Read. I know that you will like him tremendously should you ever have the opportunity to meet, and I have been enormously happy with Anne's success. He is a man of business, engaged in building a great canal of over 300 miles from New York to Ohio. I hope to one day be able to ride the entire length, although it will be some years before it is complete, if ever. Mr. Read also has many other fine qualities, which I could go on at some length but I must at least try to be reasonable as Betsy is overdue for supper._

 _Much to my surprise, I have been informed that I am apparently now reasonably wealthy. Lady Catherine, in a move of equal parts officious, sneakiness and generosity, settled quite a large sum of money on me should my companion succumbed to either death or matrimony. Naturally, the latter status was to be preferred over the former, but I was instructed only to be her friend. Lady Catherine even went so far as to tell me I was the opposite of a governess, and I was to try to get Anne_ _into_ _some trouble. I am not certain the lady had quite so much trouble in mind, but I believe her to be happy and satisfied. I am also released from any obligation to Miss de Bourgh, other than those of friendship, although I would have to say the bounds of friendship will keep me here for quite some time, and quite possibly the rest of my life. Mr. Read and Anne have offered to allow me to stay with them all my days, and while it has a certain amount of appeal, and I will stay with them for a time, I do not believe that to be my ultimate fate._

 _We will be leaving in a few weeks for the state of Ohio, around 300 miles inland from New York. Even with the war on, we are not considered in any real danger here in New York, but most believe that being inland will be somewhat better, and of course Mr. and Mrs. Reed must return to their own home soon. I will be going with them, and stay with them for the foreseeable future. Perhaps I will be the maiden aunt to their children, or perhaps I shall eventually set up my own establishment. Lady Catherine is giving me the great favor of choice in my life, and I must thank her profusely should I ever be in her company again._

 _That brings me to another subject which may yet be painful to us, but which is important. I did not invent this unusual writing style just for you. I must sheepishly confess that at the same time I was having this letter crafted, I had my same students write one to Mr. D, and I would hope he will share it with Mr. B. I believe you know of whom I refer. I know it is frighteningly forward and breaks propriety into pieces, but my sense of justice demanded that I release the man for any sense that I might be somewhere in the world thinking ill of him. After much time and consideration, I have decided that both gentlemen have committed no offense against either of us, and should be forgiven the actions of Miss B. My letter states my case for that belief in clear terms, and I hope that if he harbors any lasting bad feelings from that incident, that they will be laid to rest._

 _I know that such an action is most inappropriate, but I felt it essential since I might never have a chance to offer my apologies in person. I have had much time to think about those two gentlemen, and I believe that in essentials they are very good men. I know that you are frequently in company with lady Catherine at Rosings, so you will almost certainly run into Mr. D sooner or later. When you do, I would beg you give him a chance. I do not know if he has suffered from lack of our society or not, and if he has, I would hope that my letter will eventually give him leave to let the past remain in the past, and I do believe if you could befriend him it would be good for both of you. I can well imagine a friendship blooming between the two of you, and I would heartily approve of such._

 _I will write you again after I have arrived in Ohio, but do not expect another letter for some time. The mail is apparently functional, but not very reliable so I must bid you adieu. Please give little Abbie a kiss for me, and should you see Mr. D or Mr. B, please give them my best regards._

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

Despite the abominably long delay, and the fact that Elizabeth was woefully out of date in her knowledge of her sister's affairs, Jane felt happier than she had in a very long time. Considering her recent levels of happiness, that was really saying something.

She immediately accosted her husband, showing him the letter, and watching his face light up and delight with every sentence. He was also a man geared for amiability and happiness, and when he read the last little bit, he looked at her with such an enormous smile that was nearly frightening.

 _"Please give them my best regards_ indeed! We must find Darcy immediately."

With a good-natured shriek, the happy couple set off to pack their few possessions with alacrity, as there was a need to depart immediately, although with a couple married only three months, the definition of that word did not precisely match what it might be for ordinary people.

* * *

Two days later, Jane burst into the parlor at Rosings, the site of many of her fondest memories. She probably should have gone to the parsonage to freshen up and see her sister first. If nothing else, it would have been the proper and polite thing to do, but Lady Catherine had never stood on ceremony with the Bennet sisters and her husband thought he saw the Darcy coach next to the stable.

Jane was so giddy with excitement she practically skipped into the room, with Lizzy's letter in her hand, ready to spread joy and sunshine wherever she went. This mood did not survive the bucket of ice-cold water dumped on her head when she looked across the room to see the expected Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy, along with the thoroughly _unexpected_ visage of _Colonel Fitzwilliam_.

Both combatants gasped in surprise, stared like spellbound and frightened animals and Jane's progress through the room was arrested so quickly her husband nearly crashed into her back. Lizzy's letter fell to the ground unnoticed, and everyone in the room was rooted to the spot, thoroughly unable to do or say anything.

The colonel was the first to react, and with a short, quick bow, he said "Excuse me", and turned to leave. The words unfortunately came out like gravel rolling across a barrow, and Jane could not understand a word of it. It was however clear that the man was either embarrassed, frightened, ashamed or even just polite as he immediately started walking out of the parlor with a stride that was just short of a run.

He _almost_ made the door on the far side of the room, when Jane barely found her voice, but find it she did and it came out with surprising authority.

 _"Not so hasty, if you please, Colonel."_

Looking very much like a frightened animal caught in a trap, the colonel stopped and stood still. Much to everyone else's surprise, Jane stepped over the top of Lizzy's forgotten letter, and marched across the room with alacrity. Her husband followed behind her. Mr. Bingley had no idea what she was about, or what he should do, so he fall back on the age‑old and most reliable action all wise husbands adopted. He made himself available for his wife's disposal and decided to do whatever she said.

As Jane marched across the room, her mind was in complete turmoil and such a contrariety of emotions were present that she could hardly think and was driving on pure instinct. She could not explain _why_ , but she was absolutely certain this next few minutes were to be among the most important of her life.

As the colonel heard her approaching, his breeding and training took over. A man was to face his superiors, so by the time Mrs. Bingley was a pace away, he was facing her… more or less.

Jane stared at the man for a moment, until it became clear he had no intentions of saying anything at all, so she took it upon herself to take charge.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, you may take my word for it that your boots are fine. Your batman has done an admirable job, and the spit and polish are perfection. _I will have you look at me, sir._ "

The intensity of the outburst surprised everyone in the room, save one. Darcy knew what Jane Bingley was made of, and he simply nodded and decided to see where she would take this.

Colonel Fitzwilliam eventually managed to raise his eyes to face her, although he really only managed to get to a spot to half a foot to the right of her actual face. Her eyes were entirely too much for him, but he finally found his voice.

"Mrs. Bingley, I would have spared you this pain if I could, but since you are here, may I offer my most abject apologies."

Jane heard the words with some suspicion. There was definitely something wrong with the colonel's voice; something terribly wrong. He had previously had a melodious voice, well‑tuned to deliver amusement in any form he chose, and the man used it with gusto to entertain all who chose to converse with him. Now, his voice sounded like a ancient man who had been sitting by the fire with nobody to talk to for decades.

"I will accept your apologies, Colonel. Nothing about the experience was _right_ per se, but it has worked out for the best for me."

The colonel, apparently wanting to say as little as possible and escape replied, "May I offer my congratulations on your nuptials, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. I sincerely wish you every happiness in the world."

Everyone in the room could see Jane preparing to be the gracious lady she always was and offer the words that would put the matter to rest, when they heard her gasp in shock. Her husband covered the last few feet to her side, but she saw him from the corner of her eye and waved him away.

With a move that surprised everyone, Jane moved a step closer to the colonel, and very forwardly reached up and pulled his cravat down an inch, while the colonel stood frozen to the spot, staring back at his boots.

With a breathless voice, barely audible to those a few feet away, she gasped, "What have you done?"

Mr. Bingley moved forward to intervene with this entirely uncomfortable situation, but a flick of her head in his direction dissuaded him, so he stepped back a yard but continued to watch carefully.

The colonel said nothing… what could be said?

Softly as if she were trying to settle a spooked horse, Jane asked, "Colonel, this may seem an indelicate question, but was this your doing? Just how broken were you, sir? Was this… all this… everything that happened caused by your experiences on the continent?"

Now everyone in the room was staring in open admiration or surprise. Nobody would have expected Jane to put all the pieces together so quickly, or have the gumption to say publicly what anybody else would only whisper in a dark room and hope nobody heard.

Jane continued relentlessly, "It must be the case. It explains so much. Now I understand. You were not that man before… You are changed. Mr. Darcy would not have allowed it. He would not have trusted you if you were not trustworthy. What have you endured?"

The colonel finally found his voice, and replied, "Perhaps I did endure much, Mrs. Bingley, but not enough to justify my actions. Nothing can justify that. I shall live in shame the rest of my life."

 **"YOU MOST CERTAINLY SHALL NOT!"**

The words, shouted at practically the top of her voice truly startled everyone in the room. The only person any of this group knew that were aware of how formidable Jane's temper could be was unfortunately 4,000 miles away, and this display caught everyone off guard.

Calming herself, the ever-pleasant Jane Bingley came back to the fore, and she said, "What is being done to help you sir? Have you recovered? Are you once again reasonably whole?"

The colonel was still staring fixedly at his boots, when another voice joined the conversation.

"That has been my task, Jane. He is sufficiently recovered to take his place in society, and I would bet my life on his conduct now."

Jane's demeanor, which had been vacillating between distress for herself, distress for the situation, and distress for the colonel immediately exploded back into a big smile of happiness.

 **"Charlotte!"**

Momentarily forgetting the colonel, she ran across the intervening space to embrace her oldest and dearest friend, and the two held each other whispering quietly the things that both needed to know to get through this interview. This went on for a few minutes, while everyone else in the room talked quietly and the colonel stood rooted to the spot like a statue.

Finally, Jane returned to her spot in front of the Colonel to resume her campaign.

With a much gentler tone of voice than used previously, she addressed the man.

"Colonel, will you please look at me?"

The man finally managed to do so, with so much reluctance Jane could imagine his neck creaking like an old wagon.

"Colonel, I believe I have a right to demand some satisfaction from you, do you not agree."

The tone of the words was both soft and iron‑hard at the same time.

The colonel could only nod in acceptance, and she continued.

"Here are my terms, sir. Colonel, _I need you to forgive yourself._ Sometimes, people do things that are unforgivable, but they must be forgiven anyway. I have long pardoned you, but it will distress me greatly to think that was for naught because you continue to drag it around. For my sake… for your cousin's sake… for your aunt's sake… for Charlotte's sake… for your family's sake, sir… you _must_ forgive yourself. I will accept nothing less."

The colonel _finally_ managed to meet her eye, and stared at her for quite some time, while Jane met his gaze and waited patiently.

Finally, at long last, he croaked out his answer.

"I will do my best, Mrs. Bingley."

"That is all I can demand, Colonel, but demand it I do."

"Yes, ma'am."

The man had lost his gaze on her face, but Jane was not _quite_ done, yet.

"Colonel, you have agreed to all I have a right to demand, but I would also have a _request_."

"I am at your orders, ma'am."

Jane laughed a bit, although it was not her usual good‑humored laugh.

"Please be happy, Colonel or it is all for naught. _You must learn some of my wisest sister's philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."_

"Easier said than done, Mrs. Bingley."

"So was surviving war, Colonel, and yet, here you are."

Just a touch of the colonel's true nature came through in a gravelly chuckle, and almost nobody but Jane and Charlotte heard him say, "Yes, here I am."

Leaning closer, Jane added, "Colonel, promise me you will _live_. I know not what your duties now entail, but I shall expect you as a guest at Netherfield _well_ before Michaelmas. If you fail to show, I shall send my mother and Lady Catherine to collect you."

With that, everyone in the room burst into laughter, and a good deal of the tension was drained away. Charlotte gave Jane an intense stare and nodded her head in approval, while the colonel finally managed to look at her without his face looking like he was very close to collapsing.

The laughter gradually changed from somewhat hysterical to good humored, and then gradually died altogether.

Jane took one look at Charlotte, then looked carefully towards the parsonage, indicating she wanted the full story in privacy.

Lady Catherine surprised everyone by calling for a footman and instructing him to prepare rooms for Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and clearly instructing them that she fully expected the couple's attendance for a week at the very least.

All were settling down, when Jane let out one last outburst.

"Oh, my goodness! I almost forgot. I have a letter from Lizzy."

* * *

Jane might have felt a twinge of guilt over sharing a letter Lizzy had gone to so much trouble to make private with all and sundry, but in the end, she reckoned she was sharing it with everyone left in England who loved Lizzy the most, and she was no better suited to guilt than she was to melancholy or sadness.

Colonel Fitzwilliam excused himself from the reading, and _almost_ managed to make his escape. Jane felt a little bit sorry for him, reckoning that being dragged back into the room by the combined weight of Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine, and Jane was not _really_ fair, but he would just have to accustom himself to a position of trust.

Jane first handed the letter to her good friend Mr. Darcy, and watched his face like a hawk as he got to the bottom. She had the greatest joy in _how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him._ She had some idea that the forgiveness of Elizabeth Bennet might mean more to him than simple forgiveness of a past sin, but far be it from Jane Bingley to play matchmaker.

Though it was rarely spoken of, much like an ancient family secret, everyone in the room save the colonel knew of the incident at Netherfield.

After Jane's letter had been examined and exclaimed over, nobody quite knew what to do next. Mr. Darcy sat in what some would call his usual stoic demeanor, but Jane knew was just thoughtfulness, and finally, reached into an inside pocket on his waistcoat to retrieve a letter that looked like he had been carrying it, opening it and rereading it for decades. He opened it carefully, almost reverently, and handed it to Jane.

Five minutes later, every lady in the room was crying, while the gentlemen were doing their best not to indulge in such unmanly exhibitions. All except Mr. Darcy managed to refrain, but it was a near thing.

Finally, at long last, Lady Catherine looked most carefully at her nephew, and asked a question.

"Darcy, did you bring Richard here for a reason?"

"I did."

Now that he had everyone's attention, Darcy continued.

"Richard, I asked you if you were ready for a project. I need you to act in my stead as Master of Pemberley and guardian for Georgiana for a time. You will have our aunt, your father and your brother as advisors, and I have excellent stewards and men of business, but I must be away for perhaps half a year. I wish you to hold my place."

The colonel startled and stared for quite some time, while everyone else did their best to not stare at him.

"You would trust me with that… after… after… I am not trained for that Darcy. Even before, I was not ready for that."

Darcy looked at him carefully, and said, "Neither was I at two and twenty, yet I did what had to be done. I expect no less from you."

The colonel was just shaking his head, saying, "but to trust… to trust."

Darcy reached out his hand and grabbed the colonel's forearm and squeezed it practically to the breaking point and said, "I trust you, Richard. Miss Lucas trusts you. Mrs. Bingley trusts you. You can do this, _and you will_."

Everyone waited with baited breath, and finally the colonel nodded in acquiescence.

He sat there nodding and thinking for quite some time, and finally looked at his cousin and asked the obvious question.

"I presume you are to Ohio?"

The biggest trouble-making-boy-in-deep-trouble-with-his-governess-and-his-tutor grin he could ever remember on his cousin's face in well over a decade was all the answer he needed.


	14. Choose No Evil

_A/N: Penultimate chapter folks. I have managed to pull off one more new style, although it's more of a mix of two others so not exactly new._

* * *

~ _Charlotte_ ~

What is it about cliffsides? Does everyone find one whenever they have thinking to do, or is is just me? Right or Left? Left or Right? Why always those questions?

It all started at Rosings when we encountered a Valkyrie who looked just like Jane Bingley, who put the final cherry on four months of my hard work. I believe there must be some kind of chance involved, some sort of trickster who shoved me into a house with that man for months and months, only to have the last little bit of his recovery delivered by another. I of course had no reason to repine… success was all I wanted, and there was a new ease and friendliness to the Colonel… sometimes. He was still a haunted man, and would always be, but he was on the way to recovery. I no longer truly feared either his fists, his words or his will to survive.

Mrs. Tall Blonde Valkyrie Goddess of course takes no credit for his recovery, or maybe just a tiny bit. In the many hours we spent talking about my patient, we came to the conclusion that meeting the object of his shame and the demand for forgiveness, _right exactly when he had been prepared,_ was the key to success. Neither of us could take full credit, as we each played our part in our own time. That discussion allowed us both to be happy, as our natural modesty allowed each to give more credit to _the other_ than was due; while simultaneously, each of our abominable prides allowed _ourselves_ to feel the lion's share of the credit. It was contradictory and circular, but most true human affairs are, and we were both content.

Mr. Darcy was of course chomping at the bit to be off to the wilds of America, but he **_is_** still the most diligent man I have ever met, and would not leave things in a poor state. I also suspect he was aware that showing up to court without having done everything possible to make sure all of people and properties under his protection were secure would **_not_** go over well. He was to spend a month complete giving the Colonel some instruction while he arranged transportation.

Before Mr. Darcy left, we had a bit of an odd conversation.

"Miss Lucas, I cannot even begin to thank you properly for bringing my cousin back from the very abyss. I owe you all the thanks I have and more. I am quite certain Richard owes you his life."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am a little proud of most of what I did these past months."

" **A little proud!** "

The man still had the ability to startle me, and that explanation made me jump, but his immediate chuckle put me straight back at ease, and he continued.

"I think not, but you may feed your modesty as you choose Miss Lucas, so long as you understand your modesty is actually well‑earned hubris in disguise."

That had me laughing, and I could see why all the Bennet ladies fell in love with this man.

"Mr. Darcy, I believe my work here is done. I should like to go home for a while. I can travel to Hertfordshire with the Bingleys. It has been an… interesting couple of years."

"Before you go, Miss Lucas, we have some business to conduct."

That sounded odd to say the least, so I bade him sit in the small summer parlor and rang for tea.

"Miss Lucas, may we discuss your er… arrangement with the General?"

I knew he was aware of my stated goal… I may have even told him at some point, but it was a bit impolitic for him to bring it up now. I of course had complete faith in the man and saw no issue with having him involved in my affairs. I had been under his protection for months, and I would be surprised to learn he did not take that responsibility as seriously as all his other duties.

"Miss Lucas, I would like to ask you to suspend the General's actions for a time. Are you in a _particular hurry_ to be married?"

Now he was coming close to an uncomfortable area, and I started feeling a bit tense and restless, so I picked up my work box that happened to be sitting there like a talisman, and idly fingered the repairs. I doubted I would feel the need to smash it against yet another gentleman's head, but I had found the presence of the box in my hands to be comforting.

"I am not in a hurry to _be_ married, sir. I am content for the moment, but I _am_ in a hurry to be _settled…_ to know I will not be a burden to my parents or my brothers… to know that I will have home and hearth one day. Why do you ask, sir?"

He gave me a smoldering look that I am quite certain he never turned on any of the simpering ladies of the ton. It was too bad it would be completely ineffective with Elizabeth. Like Jane, I doubted he would suit _me_ , but he would suit _somebody_ very well.

"Miss Lucas, I now hold both you and Mrs. Bingley in a level of affection previously reserved for my sister and… one other. I find I am not satisfied with you settling for an army officer, unless that is your fondest desire. I would prefer to see you mistress of an estate."

I just laughed, and replied, "Yes, yes of course. Perhaps I could be a princess as well."

The insufferable man just laughed again, showing the good humor only a few of us were privileged to see, and replied, "Even I cannot pull that off, but mistress of an estate is well within your grasp. I would like to settle a decent dowry on you, and launch you into society… and please spare me the tedium of disagreeing and making us argue. It is already done and done for the best. I will of course ask my aunt, Lady Matlock, to assist with your introduction. If you can simply wait half a year for my return, I will expose you to men of worth and character, and I have no doubt you will soon get a home and husband worthy of you… ideally close enough to Pemberley to maintain our association."

This should have been shocking, but it was not, but I still had to ask, "Why?"

He just gave me his customary smirk, and answered, " _You know why!_ Well, at least you know part of the reason. You no doubt understand how much of this I do for the same reason as the General, gratitude and affection and appreciation for a difficult job well done. That much we can at least agree on, no?"

"Yes, I can see a man like you would feel that, sir."

"Of course, there is also the matter of my pride."

Now he had me confused, so I asked, "Pride, sir?"

"Yes, pride. I would feel proud to know that I helped arrange a match that is good for you _and_ good for one of my friends or acquaintances. You are exactly what a young master of an estate needs, and it would do my pride good to make one of those men in my debt. Yes, Miss Lucas, my pride demands nothing less. I will be quite insufferable about it when the deed is done, and equally morose if you deny me the bragging rights. Truly, my future happiness is in your hands, Miss Lucas."

Insufferable man!

"You are an enigma, Mr. Darcy."

"Perhaps, Miss Lucas, but unless you plan to have a stubbornness contest with me, I would ask you to go along with my scheme."

"Well…"

"Please, will you at least think on it Miss Lucas. I am in somewhat of a hurry to make my own journey that you know all about, but I would like to be the one to launch you into society and do my best to help you choose wisely. I like and respect your father, but he does not know many beyond Meryton society, and we can agree your fate lies elsewhere? If you are not in a big hurry, I would appreciate the privilege."

He was so earnest and adorable, I had to relent.

"I hope you can turn such specious arguments into success with Lizzy, Mr. Darcy. She is somewhat set in her ways. You will need your wits about you."

"Is she likely to knock me unconscious with a workbox?"

That sent me to giggling, which had most certainly not been much of a habit in the past months, and the gentleman joined me immediately. Yes, he would do for Lizzy. He would do for Lizzy very well.

Finally, I said, "She may try, Mr. Darcy, but if you cannot dodge a blind woman, you deserve what you get."

He joined me in laughter, so I thought I would come back to the main topic.

"I am not in a panicky hurry, Mr. Darcy. I will not live on your charity…"

He started shaking his head, but I forestalled his protests.

"… or gratitude or sisterly affection or duty to your cousin or whatever you want to call it…"

He settled down, and nodded, or at least quit trying to interrupt.

"… forever sir, but I will abide it for a time."

I then noticed _how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him_ with my agreement. This was important to him _._ He was delighted either with his ability to do me a service, or maybe his ability to win an argument. Either one would serve him well with Lizzy, as even she had limits to her stubbornness.

He very forwardly reached out and gave my hand a squeeze, and continued with his relentless campaign.

"I thank you, Miss Lucas. My cousin will in the fullness of time thank you for his life as well."

"It is my pleasure, Mr. Darcy."

"May I make a suggestion Miss Lucas. Take a fortnight or a month to visit your parents and friends in Meryton as you had planned. Allow me to put the cart in motion for my return. After your holiday, you might if you like return to your tasks at the hospital, although I believe you have already done more than your fair share; or you may stay here at Rosings and enjoy a holiday, although if you stay with Lady Catherine for more than a week you may never escape; or you may take a trip. Visit the Lakes District, or take a couple months in my townhouse in London, or stay at Pemberley. Perhaps you might spend a month with my sister? If you are in a hurry, I will ask my aunt and uncle to introduce you around before my return and act as your protectors in my stead; but if you can stand to wait I would enjoy the privilege."

With that, he stood up, and replied, "Please take your time with a decision, Miss Lucas. Salina refuses to leave your side, so you will be accompanied and funded whatever choice you make. She knows how to contact my steward, and he will make all the arrangements. If you decide on a trip, take any friends you like with you. Barrow and his wife will also gladly accompany you."

With that, he bowed, and left me to my own devices. I decided that I at least needed a bit of time to clear my head, and going home seemed a good way to do it. I could lock myself in a drawing room with Maria, Lydia and Kitty Bennet, Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips, and wait for insanity to put me in a worse state than the Colonel. That would be diverting, and my future course should be well set by simply doing anything I could to escape their company.

And thus it was. I found myself in Hatfield, fifteen miles from Meryton, climbing yet another cliff while the Bingleys baited the horses and probably engaged in things I did not want to know about. Salina was taking a rest, so I had time to sit at the top of a cliff and think. Of course, "cliff" may be overstating it since it was all of a dozen feet high, sitting at the top of a small hill like Oakham Mount. It was definitely not the breathtaking peaks of Derbyshire, but it would have to do for the moment.

I, who had never had any good chance for success in life, now seemed to have a world of choices. Mr. Darcy seemed determined to ease me into a life of ease, luxury, enjoyment, and purpose. He proposed I have my own home, my own children, a respectable place in the world and everything I had ever wanted since I was a little girl. The General offered me a life of excitement, danger, travel, thrills and the satisfaction of making a real difference in the world… and to be honest, that idea had a lot of appeal as well, so long as it was an officer with some means. Would I ever be able to go back to a gentle life with a man who had never faced anything more difficult than choosing a wife, escaping matchmakers and maybe the occasional argument with his steward or housekeeper? The old saying _you can never go back_ all of a sudden made more sense than ever.

I sat up there for a good two hours, staring at the knuckles on the back of my hands and my fingers that had done so much over the past couple of years. My right hand had a few small holes in my index fingers from a bit of carelessness doing embroidery to pass the time. They were the mark of a gentlewoman, fulfilling gentle pursuits, and would disappear in a few days leaving no more lasting mark than whatever I had been embroidering. I would put my embroidery skills very near the top of everyone I knew, except for Jane of course, but it would not change the world.

My left hand had a scar from the knuckle of the first finger all the way across to the edge. It was healing, and in time would fade, but it would never go away entirely… neither the scar, nor the experience that created it. This was a nurse's scar, the mark of a woman who had done what was necessary when it had to be done. A corporal had made it by dragging a carelessly placed scalpel across it in a screaming fit as the surgeon took off his leg and I tried to hold him still. I had made sure nobody ever told the poor man what happened, as it was not his fault, nor his burden to carry. Sister Mary doused the wound it in alcohol, scrubbed it clean with fire I think, then stitched it up with a hand better than any gentlewoman ever applied to embroidery or dressmaking. I would never tell my future husband that I had learned the other fine arts of needlepoint the hard way, or that I had learned to stitch up men, and had even applied myself to the task more than once.

After an hour or two of this reflection, I became certain of one thing. Nothing about deciding the rest of my life would be enhanced by the presence of the ladies I knew in Meryton. Even including my own mother, I did not believe I really knew any of them anymore. My earlier self would recoil in horror at the thoughts of my current self, but that worthy believed it was time to return to more _substantial_ people, and more _substantial_ pursuits, whatever they may be. Maria, Lydia and the silly girls; Mother, Mrs. Bennet and the silly matrons; they were doing fine without me, and I did not truly think I could abide their company even for a week, let alone expose Salina to them. The poor girl already had a toothache, and clenching her jaw for hours at a time would hardly be conducive to proper healing.

Decision made, I jumped up and practically ran down the hill. I was beginning to appreciate some of Lizzy's earlier delight in the outdoors, and running in particular before she lost her sight. It was actually quite pleasant to be moving quickly through nature; or at least it was when you weren't cussing like a drunken sailor and looking for someone to kill.

It took me hours and hours to convince the Bingleys to return me the 35 miles we had just traversed to Rosings, but through implacable stubbornness I managed to prevail.

 **HAH!** As if the two of them would not do anything I asked, as soon as I asked it; or as if I could out‑stubborn Jane Bingley if she decided to put her foot down! **HAH INDEED!**

~ _Richard_ ~

 **Blacksmiths!** I spent my life in a blasted blacksmith shop. How had it come to this, I wondered? The heat of the forge and ringing of the hammer had become my life.

First, there was my bloody cock-sure cousin Darcy! It was bad enough for the elegant females of the world to forgive my many and myriad offenses, but now the man who had only done one sensible thing in his life – beat me halfway to death – decided that not only was he going to forgive me, but he was going to make me master of a damned blasted bloody poxed estate! It was insupportable, or inconceivable, or irredeemable, or maybe some other bloody in- adjectives I couldn't be bothered to work out.

Once Darcy made up his mind on my fate, he went at it with the relentless abandon of a true fanatic, and decided that he was going to beat a lifetime's worth of lessons in estate management into my head in a month, where my head in this analogy is either the anvil or the horseshoe, and the hammer was his insufferable relentless voice.

Then there were the two ladies related with my most recent debacle. Boy, talk about two tough old birds… well, maybe I could come up with a more apt description one day. Miss Lucas and Mrs. Bingley could act as hammer and anvil anytime they liked. Mrs. Bingley… well, what can I say? I was only happy she ended up Mrs. Bingley instead of Mrs. Fitzwilliam, because she had the sweetest demeanor and disposition, and would smile demurely and offer you a sweatmeat while she cut your throat with kindness. I would win every argument, but she would always get her way. She would have eaten me alive sooner or later if she had accepted my proposal.

Miss Lucas on the other hand… **Damn, what a woman**! Now, an ordinary man might dispute the claim, but I would have to assert that any woman that could knock me unconscious with a workbox was a woman after my own heart. Send me after a cannon or a cavalryman any day, because she was quite frightening when she was pissed off, and only slight less frightening when she was not. Between the workbox incident, and the whole episode with the bosoms and the lullabies; not to mention her conspiring with the Bingley Valkyrie to deprive me of the setdown I deserved, and actually desired, I was a bit out of sorts.

It was really much too bad Miss Lucas was much too good for the likes of me, even if she had not known the many defects of my character; and of course, she could catalogue my faults with precision and in detail. I suspected Darcy was getting all older‑brother on her and would set her up with a worthy estate owner. I was secretly both glad he took it upon himself, and unhappy that she would within the year be well beyond my reach.

I had to admit that, despite the relentless hammering, and to continue the analogy, my cousin's application of fire, coals and bellows in an attempt to resurrect my honor, was probably a worthwhile endeavor. I imagined there would be a few worms that might beg to differ, and maybe a Frenchman or two, but all in all, I mostly preferred the sunlight, activity, and even Darcy's lectures and ledgers to being dead in a hole in the ground. Military men universally believed in God and an afterlife and a better place when the cannons were flying and the horses were approaching; but were mostly indifferent when they were cleaning up the aftermath. For my own case, I had finally come to the opinion that there was no particular hurry to see what happened after you were dead, since I would find out sooner or later anyway.

My suppositions were proven right one day when I saw Darcy closeted with Charlotte (alright, Miss Lucas), a week or so before his departure. She later came and took her leave of me with the utmost courtesy, and I hoped a look in her eye that said she might eventually look on me with some favor and not as a burden. I returned the sentiments, suddenly too shy to do more than politely wish her a good journey; while simultaneously remembering some of the horrible things I had said to her. Despite Mrs. Bingley's admonitions, our association ended with me tongue-tied and making a thorough examination of my boots.

I wanted to ask her to stay, or thank her again, or… or… or… something, but in the end, I wished her a pleasant journey and her family's good health, and all the other things politeness required, and watched her climb into Bingley's coach with a real feeling of regret. I doubted very much I would ever meet her equal again.

~ _Lizzy~_

I was most startled when Anne came to me immediately after my return from our new school with some news. My concerns that Ohio would be entirely devoid of the poor and the ignorant had been unfounded. They did not exist in the numbers you saw in the cities, but there were entirely enough to make the endeavor worthwhile and I had a dozen children under the tutelage of the most formidable schoolmarm I had ever been acquainted with. Anne had the brilliant idea to include lunch in the curriculum, and I was not above bribing children to improve themselves.

All was as it should be in the school, and I was funding this one entirely from the amount Lady Catherine had settled on me, because frankly I had no idea what to do with it. I couldn't even seem to consume the interest, so I had in the two months since learning of the lady's largess endeavored to double all of our previous schools via the post. I imagined all the American schools were already starting the work, but had no idea how long it would take the post to get to England. Anne's outburst left me concerned.

"Lizzy, I need you to listen to this _calmly_. Come have some tea."

There was nothing Anne could have possibly said to increase my anxiety any higher, but I did my best to do as she instructed.

"Lizzy, my mother sent me a coded message."

Now, I was just puzzled.

"Coded, message?"

"Oh, I forgot you do not know about them. When we need to discuss something confidential, she uses a _book cipher_. She finds the word in a book we have agreed on in advance, and writes the page, line and word number instead of the word. Then I just look it up in the same book. It's tedious, but confidential so long as nobody guesses the book."

I was instantly intrigued, probably exactly as she intended me to be. Who would have thought that Lady Catherine would know such a trick? I wondered if I would have known about it if I had maintained my sight, or if I would have continued on in the blissful ignorance of childhood until my mother managed to engineer a marriage.

I was so caught up in those thoughts, I was caught off guard when Anne launched her attack.

"Lizzy, your sister Jane is married!'

I must have gasped in surprise, as she took my hand and squeezed it comfortingly. Naturally, my mind jumped right into a panic, because if Jane had been married in the usual way, a plain ordinary letter would have been entirely adequate to convey the news, and it would have been a letter to me, not a ciphered message to Anne.

"Do not keep me in suspense Anne. Give me the bad part."

She just chuckled. Apparently, she was testing me and I had passed. She drew a deep breath, before continuing in a blast as if she just had to get it out before one of us exploded.

"Please do not overreact, as all end well, but she had a proposal she rejected, then she was attacked and compromised by my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was apparently er… unwell. Mr. Darcy came upon him before any real harm to anything but her reputation was done and beat Richard halfway to death. They were seen, so naturally Mr. Darcy offered for your sister and simultaneously offered to find another suitor, and in the end Jane chose Mr. Bingley, and Mother says she has never seen a happier couple, so really it has all worked out for the best… and then my cousin tried to hang himself… and Darcy found him in time to save him… and he got an army nurse named Charlotte Lucas to treat him and they are in a hunting lodge in Pemberley and he may or may not be cured in the end and…"

" **Anne, please stop or at least slow down.** "

I was thoroughly distressed by the entire news, but also worried for my friend. The last half of that diatribe had been spoken like a squirrel trying to get it all out posthaste, and I was worried she would pass out on the floor, which would both oblige me to help her, and slow down my eventual absorption of the distressing news.

I took both her hands and squeezed until I could hear her breathing return to normal, then asked, "All right, Anne, let us read the letter as Lady Catherine wrote it."

She agreed, and sat down to read it as suggested. It turned out that my respect for Lady Catherine had to improve even more, because she took the time and patience to break the news slowly, methodically and carefully. The letter took at least six sheets, and Anne transposed it to three pages complete. The entire sad but somewhat exhilarating story came out in bits and pieces.

I asked Anne to read it thrice more, mostly because she needed it to absorb the story. I did not need it because I could recite the whole thing at my leisure any time, but Anne needed the repetition. Being blind was inconvenient, but it did wonders for my memory.

At long last, I detected that Anne was quite distressed by the whole thing, and seemed fatigued so I bade her go take a rest as I would be fine. Once I knew that Mr. Bingley was worthy, and that my Jane was happy, I had not the slightest cause to repine. The Colonel was worrying, and I was astounded to learn about Charlotte, until I thought about it. I had lost contact with Charlotte when I left Meryton, and we had not been close for a while anyway, but it perfectly suited Charlottes temper and her situation. I hoped that she had not had to endure anything too onerous as a nurse, but that was obviously a vain hope. She must have had some skill if Mr. Darcy chose her to treat his cousin. Since he only beat him halfway to death, I had to assume the man wanted to recover his cousin. If compromising Jane into marrying the man she wanted anyway… well, I could not approve of the method, but could not grumble about the result.

When Anne left, I asked for Mr. Hopkinson's assistance. My letter to Jane needed to be done and posted within the day, and I managed to fill two pages with questions. With the war on, mail was spotty so I might get an answer in six weeks, or never.

All through the exercise, there was one question that kept coming back to my mind.

 _"I wonder if Mr. Darcy got my letter."_

~ _Darcy_ ~

I was all decided. It was a completely fixed thing, with the only thing left to be done was implementation. I was going to kill James Fowler. It only awaited opportunity, but he was a dead man.

You may wonder why I felt the need to kill my valet, but if you find the idea reprehensible, it is only because you have never been exposed to seasickness, and never had to put up with the insufferable presence of a former sailor who stoically took care of you, showing every sympathy, doing his job perfectly day and night, day after day, through storms and shipwrecks and whatever other miseries I was subjected to. It was really qute insufferable. He kept three buckets handy for my disposal, and regularly sluiced each out thoroughly with seawater. He suggested every remedy anyone had ever suggested, all with no effect. He talked to the ship's surgeon, the captain, even the cook and all were at a loss to help me. There was nothing for it… the man had to go.

It had all started the day I left Portsmouth. I had set my course the moment I read Elizabeth's letter (well, all right – Miss Bennet). I might have depended on my Aunt Catherine to dissuade me from sailing through a war zone with a full naval blockade, but she turned out to be completely unreliable. She only asked when I was going to leave, and chastised me for any delay. Perhaps my Uncle the Earl of Matlock might have been of assistance, but his opinion was perhaps for the first time in his life in complete accordance with his sister. Everyone from Jane Bingley, who had originally placed the idea in my head before the incident with Richard, to Charles, to my lunkhead cousin the Colonel to… well, you get the picture. My fate was sealed.

There was only one real problem with the entire scheme… well, maybe two if you count the war and the better than even chance of ending up dead on the bottom of the Atlantic… which a week into the trip actually sounded like the best outcome. I had been on a ship before, and I knew what to expect.

I was quite in dread of the trip, knowing full well what was coming and pondering how to avoid the blockade. Some correspondence by express with an Admiral who I had saved from some difficulties involving the Don of Cambridge, a donkey and… well, I digress. The man owed me a favor and some information was useful. Apparently, the British Navy outnumbered the American navy by a substantial margin (we had 800 ships – they had a dozen), but their ships were better – much better. While nobody was getting out of the blockaded harbors, nobody was getting in either.

It seemed quite a conundrum, until he suggested the most obvious answer in the world. The easiest way to get through a British naval blockade was on a ship of the British Navy that was performing the duty. The Admiral had a ship going to Nova Scotia leaving in only a month. I managed to trade a berth on the ship for my continued silence on what we called _the incident_ for at least another month, and Fowler and I departed Portsmouth in good cheer.

I am a man of iron will and discipline, so I simply decided my stomach would not rule my life, and even managed to keep the resolution almost until we got out of sight of land.

It turned out that if it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all, as we were beset by storms that everyone assured me were of significant magnitude, far worse than the usual fare, and they blew us very far off course. Coupled with a broken mast, our trip was delayed by over a fortnight beyond, and we even were to suffer the indignity of stopping on some flyspeck island in the middle of the Atlantic that may have had a name but I could not be bothered to learn it. We were to delay a trip by at least a week to repair the ship, and more likely a fortnight, so thence I left the ship. I was half a stone below my usual weight, quite green in appearance, and entirely disagreeable except for one thing. I was on dry land… well, it was raining like cats and dogs, but it still was technically dry land. There were a few inns of quality, and Fowler hopped to with alacrity to get us settled into one.

I was vacillating between joy that I was safe and secure, distress that I would have to get on the ship again, and even worse, distress that my eventual meeting with Elizabeth was to be delayed even more. It had been well over a year since I had seen her, and several months since I eventually realized that I loved her and always had. You would think I could stand another week of waiting, but it was going to make me insane… right after I killed Fowler.

In such confusion, I went to the room, laid down in the bed that steadfastly refused to move, and slept for what Fowler tells me was eighteen hours.

I woke up hungry and still tired, but otherwise seemed to have survived the affair. The weather had forced a couple of mail packets to dock here as well, and one of them had some correspondence for me to handle. It was on its way to Nova Scotia but the postmaster on the ship checked around for others trapped on the island. None of it was critical, but I dealt with it anyway, happy for something to occupy at least some of my time.

Once that was done, I set out to see the island. They had a surprisingly adequate stable, and I spent most of the afternoon riding and enjoying feeling myself once again.

Once I could actually think again, I spent nearly every waking moment asking myself a question over and over. Elizabeth had breached propriety by writing me, but it was an entirely different thing than writing her. Everything she received would be read by at least Hopkinson or Anne, and I could not think of anything I could say that I was willing to say so publicly that it might embarrass her or compromise her reputation, if they even worried about such things in Ohil. She had been the consummate lady, offered her forgiveness unstintingly, wished me all the health and happiness in the world… exactly as a friend, sister or indifferent acquaintance would. Could I dare hope for more?

I finally opted for a few innocuous lines in Lady Catherine's cyphered message, but I could not say what needed to be said in a letter. I would just have to make my way to Ohio and say it in person.


	15. Have No Fun

Elizabeth Bennet would sheepishly admit that she was a woman completely and thoroughly in love. It was the kind of love that transcended time, transcended class, transcended all thought and all womanly emotion. Yes, it must be admitted. Elizabeth Bennet was completely and thoroughly transfixed by Herr Beethoven, Herr Hayden and Herr Mozart. The love had come on quite gradually, and the lady was allowed much time to think a lot about the topic while she assiduously made love to the keys on the pianoforte. The feeling of absolute love hit Anne like a load of bricks falling on her, and though she was shocked and astounded and very careful in her expression, Elizabeth was quite certain Anne had been smitten in the first five minutes. Mr. Read was of course a complete and unrepentant lovesick puppy, and made no bones about it. Jane on the other hand, must have built her love up like a kettle over the course of a year, and only when she heard the boiling and the kettle ready to explode did she give herself over fully. Elizabeth's love for music had flourished early alongside Mary, been snuffed entirely out by her intransigence, laziness and fear after her blindness, and then fully resurrected once she decided to start playing again… at least when she decided to play with her fingers instead of her head.

Now, after only a few months, a direct connection was formed between her fingers and the keys and her ears and her soul. She no longer depended on such children's tricks as notches on keyboards, and in fact could not abide marking up a perfectly good instrument. A light touch of a single key was enough to orient herself, and a quick scale enough to put her completely in thrall to the music. Nobody and nothing existed inside her world of music, and there was nothing like the sense of peace that came about when she could, just for a while, tune her hearing down to the point where she only heard the music and not everything else happening within a dozen yards.

This particular pianoforte was like no other she had ever played, and she well thought she was likely to play through dinner, and probably supper as well; and everyone in the building was transfixed by the music, while thoroughly unwilling to disturb her peace in any way.

* * *

Charlotte Lucas was well and thoroughly vexed and confused. Vexed and confused and tired and sour and most disgusted. Seventy miles in a coach in one day, even if it was quite a good coach, and even in the company of the amiable twins, was just a bit too much for a woman whose nerves were so aflutter. She would eventually fret her way to understanding that the Bingleys had done nothing wrong all day, but eventually was a long time off when her bottom was sore, and her nerves were shattered. She wondered just how long she would be until she was calling for Mrs. Bennet's salts.

The coach had barely come to a halt when she jumped to the ground, walked into the house at nearly a run, and found the Colonel in conversation with Lady Catherine in the parlor.

"I need to talk to you… now!"

With that, she gave Lady Catherine a quick curtsey, dragged the confused looking man into the office next door, and slammed the door.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, quite unaware of what exactly he had done to get in her brown books this time, was perplexed but had enough sense to keep quiet until she had her say. Battle teaches a man when to keep his head down.

"AAAARGGGGGHHHHH"

The exclamation, along with the corresponding stamp of the foot left the man perplexed, but at least not without some semblance of manners.

"Welcome back, Miss Lucas. I had not expected you, but…"

She glared at him for a moment, but he simply continued.

"… you are indeed, most welcome."

"Am I, Colonel?"

" **ALWAYS**! I would hope you know that. I owe you my life."

"Gratitude, Colonel?"

He was thoroughly perplexed, and Charlotte belatedly realized the course of the conversation, which went much better in her head when she was in the coach.

"I am sorry Richard. I am not making sense, am I?"

He just laughed, and replied, "You will sooner or later… you always do."

She looked at him carefully, trying to gauge his mood before continuing with her scatterbrained declaration.

"We have a problem… well, actually, we have two opposite problems."

"Can you be more specific, Miss Lucas?"

Charlotte drew a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"Perhaps some tea?"

The asking of the ritual brought her back to her senses, and probably saved her from calling for salts.

"Yes, that would be lovely, Colonel. Perhaps while we ask for it, I can apologize to Lady Catherine for being so rude."

" **HAH**! You think you can intimidate my aunt. I assure you Miss Lucas, it will take more than that to discompose her."

The jest did relieve a bit of the tension, and Charlotte did leave the room to offer her felicitations. True to the Colonel's projection, the lady was more amused than offended and waved her apologies off without a second thought. She did however insist they use the parlor, and sent all the servants away except Salina who sat in the hallway, far away and took out her own workbasket.

After the tea ritual was well underway, Charlotte resumed her disrupted speech.

"Colonel, I have a problem! All my life, I just wanted my own home, my own household and perhaps some children with an honorable man. I thought I would have to take the first one to offer, since I' have always been one of the plainest women in the neighborhood… and please, spare me the platitudes and objections. I grew up next to the elder Bennet sisters. I know what I am."

The Colonel saw nothing he could add that was not likely get him slapped down again, so he just nodded.

"Four months ago, your General made me an offer. It may sound untoward, but it was an honorable offer good for all involved. He would find me the honorable man I coveted… a Colonel or higher, and I could have all I ever wanted. A home, a hearth even if it moved periodically, and a family."

"It is a good bargain, Miss Lucas. I could not oppose or censure it."

"I did not think you would. Then, Mr. Darcy took me under his protection and he thinks I should be something more… wife of a property owner, a woman of some stature, important in my community, and he begs me to allow him the privilege of introducing me to suitable men."

"An even more enticing offer, Miss Lucas and I must say I agree with Darcy."

"In what way, sir?"

"You deserve more. You deserve everything."

"So, you see my problem, sir?"

"Not really?"

"I have a surfeit of choices, so now I am not happy with any of them. When I had only one choice, I was bound to be quite satisfied with it. _Now I must choose."_

"So, you assert the officer might have some advantages over the land owner?", he asked in honest perplexity.

"Of course! An officer will never question my time in the hospital. He will esteem me for it. He will not be discomposed if I wake up in the night from time to time with bad dreams, or remember the anniversary of something very bad that happened, or stitch up the stable boy when he cuts himself. He would understand these things without having to have it explained."

"So, it sounds like the officer is for you, Miss Lucas."

"Yes, but I could be so much more. Not to denigrate officers, but I have a strong sense of a need to _do something_ more for my community, and officer's wives rarely stay in one place long enough to drop deep roots and influence. They might influence the army, but not very much."

"So, it sounds like the land owner is for you."

"Now you see my problem."

"Yes. You must choose. It is a difficult problem. Is that what has you vexed?"

"Partially"

"And can I help you sort it out."

"Perhaps… but first, let us talk about _your_ problem."

" _My problem?"_

"You heard me."

"I do not have any matrimonial problems, Miss Lucas. I do not intend to marry."

"Yes, that is your first problem."

"Are there more?"

"Several! Must I spell them out?"

 _"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours_ , Miss Lucas _."_

Charlotte looked for any signs of censure or haughtiness on the face of the Colonel, being quite familiar with all of his myriad forms or both, but saw nothing but attention mixed with confusion… both understandable enough.

"Colonel, you have the exact opposite problem as I do. I have too many good options to choose from, while you have almost none."

Charlotte took a deep breath, and began ticking the problems off with her fingers.

"Number 1 – You must marry, despite your current disinclination with the topic. I know Darcy made you a landowner, or soon will. You have a responsibility to the land, to the tenants, to the people under your care. It comes with the privileges. You must marry, and marry well."

The Colonel thought about that a moment, and just nodded in reluctant acceptance. She could see the wheels turning in his head, and something of a tactical analysis going on. She assumed it was not going well. He had clearly not thought through all the ramifications of being a land owner, or frankly, he had probably not thought through hardly any of them.

"Number 2 – You will need a woman with a bit of a dowry, as you might have an estate but will not be all that wealthy. You need something set aside for your widow should you decide to feed the worms early, or for second sons and daughters and the like. Regardless of how big the estate is, you have a duty to pass it on whole and complete to your son. You cannot afford to marry with no concern for fortune. It would be irresponsible."

His brow furrowed, and said, "I always knew I needed some fortune in my old situation, but had not thought it all the way through in my new one; but you are correct."

She nodded, happy she did not have to belabor the point.

"Number 3 – You will need a woman of some character and a strong will. She will see your neck sooner or later, and your honor demands you tell her the full story. She will need to know whether to soothe you or smack you when you wake up with nightmares. Not every heiress will agree, and many will run screaming and crying. If one does accept you, then you will never know if she really _accepts_ you, or if she is being forced by her family or circumstance."

The colonel stared at her for a moment, and had to allow that she had the whole scheme worked out much better than he did, and that she was correct.

"You are correct, Miss Lucas. It seems a hopeless business."

He could not quite interpret her expression then, as she stared at him so intensely he could not break eye contact if she bashed him in the head with her workbox again.

"Number 4 – Should you manage to find this mythical woman _Richard_ , she will _never_ love you the way I do. She will never feel what you have been through. She will never experience the things I have experienced with you. And no other woman will ever be able to have you solve her matrimonial problems all in one fell swoop."

She never broke eye contact with him, and she just waited for the dawning comprehension that gradually filtered through his ears, through his brain and straight into his heart, before she ultimately saw his face light up like the sunrise. She had been afraid to say the last… so afraid… so timid… so… so… so… so in love. In a move that only a soldier would understand, she had bet her entire life and her entire heart on one gallant charge. She felt in her heart that he loved her, but he would _never_ have the courage to make a move, and he would also be honor bound to oppose any rational move she made. It was all or nothing, and when she saw that it was to be ALL in his eyes, her face lit up to match his.

The next moment found them springing towards each other like two great clashing armies, and the next found her arms around his shoulders and his around his waist as he spun her around the room like a rag doll.

Eventually, he stopped, put her down without relinquishing a thousandth of an inch of separation between them, and kissed her as if his life depended on it. Perhaps his life _did_ depend on it. Perhaps hers did as well. Their hearts certainly depended on it, and it was but a moment before the Colonel let out a yell like he had in the biggest battles of his life, which brought everyone in Rosings running in panic, only to be given the wonderful news.

Eventually, as congratulations slowed down, and he relinquished his intended to a great hug from Salina, and another more dignified but just as heartfelt one from his Aunt Catherine, he remembered a bit of protocol that had been missed.

He took a knee in front of her, and asked, "Miss Charlotte Lucas. You gave me back my life, despite my best efforts. Now I wish to return it to you. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife."

Her answer involved vigorous nodding of her head, and more than a few tears.

* * *

Some little time later, the Colonel's aunt handed him a note.

 _Richard,_

 _If you are reading this, it means you are betrothed to Miss Lucas, and coincidentally that Aunt Catherine owes me a crown. I imagine she probably had to propose to bring you to the point, or perhaps I need to get her yet another new workbox, but either way I am very happy for you._

 _Do not get too attached to Pemberley, and pay particular attention to the accounts at Rosings._

 _Give your intended everything you have, as you will never meet another like her should you live a thousand years._

 _Darcy_

* * *

The last sounds of Beethoven's _Für Elise_ gradually faded away, and Elizabeth Bennet finally came back to the room. The day's session had been particularly uplifting, with the music lifting her seemingly to the very heavens. She thought she might very well die quite happily, but as always, she had to come back to Earth sooner or later. As she finally became aware of her surroundings, she drew in a gasping breath, realizing she was not as alone as she expected to be.

She called out louder than was her usual voice, "Who is there? Please identify yourself."

She heard an unexpected chuckle, and the even more unexpected words, "I am staring at you, Elizabeth."

" **Mr. Darcy!** "

"Yes, it is me. I am very happy to see you."

"But… but… but… what are you doing here, sir? I hardly expected to run into you on this tiny little island. What are the chances?"

"Slim, but perhaps fate has given us a helping hand, Miss Bennet."

"I am all astonishment, sir."

"As am I. I am also curious, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow in perplexity, which the man found to be quite enchanting, and waited for his question.

"How did you always know I was staring at you before, and you did not now?"

"You are surprised a blind woman cannot identify you?"

"No, that is not surprising at all. It has been well over a year and a half. But I always wondered how you did it before."

"Oh that… well, sir… may I assume you have a new valet?"

"Yes, I do… and I had quite decided to kill this one on the trip over, but perhaps I shall spare him now."

Elizabeth laughed in good natured humor. This man had always affected her, but he said the oddest things.

"Well sir, I could not identify you because your new man prefers a different boot polish."

"Boot polish?"

"Yes sir. Before, you had quite a distinct smell. That is how I always knew you. It is just a parlor trick, only useful when you are downwind."

The man chuckled, and then gave a soft laugh which she joined in. She had nearly forgotten what a pleasure it had once been to laugh with him.

They both finally stopped, and he asked, "And the staring?"

She looked a bit bashful or embarrassed, and said, "That was just playing the odds. My sisters asserted you stared at me most of the time."

That one started him laughing again, and she joined with him, but with a bit more shyness.

"I am astonished to see you here sir."

"Yes, as am I."

Elizabeth started wringing her hands together, and stared at her shoes that she could not see, but the mannerism was instinctive.

"Did you get my letter, sir? I apologize if it made you uncomfortable, but it had to be said."

"Yes, Miss Bennet… I had the supreme pleasure of receiving your letter. I have it here in my vest."

"I… well."

"Do not be uncomfortable. The letter was wonderful, and I hold it in high regard."

"Thank you, sir."

Now awkward, Darcy walked a few steps closer. She could hear his boots clearly, and had already memorized the new polish so he would not catch her unaware again.

"And speaking of letters, did Anne receive Lady Catherine's cyphered letter."

"She did. I… I.. I… I must thank you with all my heart, Mr. Darcy. That was extraordinary."

"It was not, but I most heartily offer my welcome."

"I shall be the judge, Mr. Darcy."

Now both were even more shy and awkward. Elizabeth knew they were alone, or at least trusted that Mr. Darcy insured that they were. Mr. Hopkinson had planted himself outside the parlor when she started playing, and as always, she knew she was well protected. Nobody but Mr. Darcy would have been allowed in, and she now recollected she had heard the door close just before she called out, but it had not registered.

"I must ask, why are you here, Mr. Darcy? Are you to see Anne?"

"No, I am not. I must admit to a desire to see Anne, but I have extensive correspondence from Mr. Read, as well as your recommendation. I am not in the least concerned with Anne's situation."

"So why are you here?"

"I am courting."

Elizabeth quite unsarcastically stumbled in her speech, before she could reply with much more of a tremble in her voice than she would have preferred. It was only at that very moment, that she realized how much she would be disappointed when he married.

"May I ask who? Is it someone I know?"

"You, of course!"

" **Me?** "

"Yes, you. I know I have only recently managed to re‑enter your good graces, but I intend to press my advantage while I can. I intend to have you fall in love with me."

" **Me?** "

"Yes, you. Elizabeth Bennet. You are the love of my life, and I can only hope you will feel the same one day."

"But… but… but… I am… I am…"

"What objections are you planning to give Elizabeth. Blind… Poor… No connections… Small dowry… None were ever important, and the first is the only one that even exists anymore."

"All of those and more. You are a great man, Mr. Darcy. I do not aspire…"

Her confusion was great indeed, and her feelings were thrown into a tumult of emotions when she heard his knees hit the floor right in front of the stool she was still sitting on, and she felt his hands take both of hers. Apparently, Mr. Read might have mentioned more to the man than his business, or maybe all good men did this sort of thing."

"Elizabeth, may I show you something?"

"Show me, sir? You just."

"You know what I mean. One moment."

She felt bereft when one of his hands left hers, but it was but a moment until her hands closed on a paper and he let go of her other hand.

"Use your hands, Elizabeth. Examine the page and tell me what you feel."

Perplexed, Elizabeth did as she was bid. The paper was parchment, and she felt it carefully, unfolded it and ran her hands over the entire things.

"This is practically a rag, Mr. Darcy. I am surprised it does not fall apart in my hands. Pray, what is it, and why do you carry it with you?"

She heard his chuckle, which was _very_ endearing, then his reply.

"That is your letter, Elizabeth."

His use of her given name was not unnoticed, nor the fact that he had oh so carefully removed the letter from her hand, carefully folded it and returned it to his pocket. She heard all of that from the crinkling of the paper, and the jangle of his watchchain as he performed the maneuver; all the while trying to work out what he was saying, since it was far too extraordinary to be true.

"You can see the paper will be dust soon. I need to hear it from your lips, Elizabeth. You told me outright you hold me in some esteem. That is good, but not enough. I wish to earn your love, and I will do anything to achieve it. Will you allow me the chance to show you my love and earn yours?"

Finally realizing what was really happening, she noticed the man grabbing her hands again, as gentle as he would a newborn babe. His hands were big, practically engulfing hers. They were harder than hers, showing that he was a man who did not leave all the work to servants and farmers. These were the hands of a man who worked the land from time to time… a man who understood and protected his own… a man worthy of someone better… but her heart screamed at the insinuation.

Still, she hesitated.

Pensively, the man said, "You heard of Bingley's Oak Tree?"

"Yes", she whispered just barely audible.

"My oak tree was the docks in Portsmouth and London. I bought passage on five ships. I boarded four of them. In the end, much like Bingley, I will never know if I was showing you the honor of following your wishes, or if I just lacked courage. For Bingley, it was one more mile of riding. For me it would be endless weeks of misery, but in either case, we would both have to lay our hearts bare in front of the woman we loved. I will never know if we were just not bold enough, or it just was not the right time. Had Bingley acted more precipitously, he might never have grown into the man he is, I would never have become such great friends with your sister, and my life would be diminished. Had I acted with more bravery, I doubt Anne would have ever escaped Rosings, let alone fond herself and her love. Only you could do that. Perhaps, Elizabeth… perhaps, Fate just decided that we had important things to do before we could be together, but the time is now. Please tell me you will allow me to try."

Elizabeth finally came to her senses and felt the overwhelming power in his voice. She could tell insincerity from a dozen paces, but the converse was true and there was not the slightest doubt that this man was sincerely offering up his heart.

"Fitzwilliam, do you know what my most prevalent emotion was upon leaving Netherfield? It was not anger, although I was filled with a red‑hot rage as I have never felt before. It was not pain, though my hip hurt abominably. It was not concern for my sister, though she was reduced to leaning on a limping blind woman for support. It was not embarrassment, though I had heard the worst slight of my life. It was not revenge or justice, though I somehow knew that you would put that harridan in her place. Do you know what it was?"

"Please", he whispered so softly nobody else would have even heard it.

"It was disappointment, because I knew I loved you with all my heart. I would not admit it to myself, and still can only barely do so, but I was disappointed to know that my one chance to befriend you while maintaining some kind of dignity was lost. I never aspired to have you love me, but I had hoped I could love you from afar and live my life. That was ripped away that morning, and I felt it so acutely it nearly killed me; but it was many months before I could sort that feeling out and understand it."

"You love me?"

She heard everything in that question: love, pain, struggle, hope and more love.

"Yes, with all my heart. I think I loved you almost from the start. _Love at first sight_ obviously did not apply, but I suspect I was flirting outrageously with you in that first assembly, but would not even admit it to myself."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife."

She answered in a whisper,

"Yes, I would be honored. May I?"

While he wondered what she was asking, she disengaged her hands from his, and carefully put them up to cup his cheek, and then feel all of his face to come to know it. She would never see him, but that was no reason she could not know him. His hair was longer than she would have expected, his sideburns softer. His lips when she got to them were soft and yielding, and he gave not the slightest resistance as she gently pulled him towards herself for their first kiss. So intense were their feelings during this process that they naturally bashed their heads together before their lips met, which unleashed a torrent of laughter that delayed the kissing for… well, to be truthful, not very long.

Fitzwilliam would have happily jumped up and spun her around the room like a little girl, but wisely desisted, correctly surmising that was more likely to make her sick than lovestruck. He did however, equally wisely, or perhaps lazily trade places with her on the bench, as having her in his lap was in every way superior to being on his knees, which by that time were killing him.

Sometime later, the lady asked, "Fitzwilliam, is it true that a ship's captain can marry people at sea?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"How far, out to sea?"

The man grinned like a schoolboy, and eventually worked out that his lady… he would never tire of that phrase… his lady… could not see it, and assumed she would work out a system for communicating such things.

"I do not know, but to save the life of my valet, I suspect Captain Smyth will be satisfied with a few yards."

His lady laughed with open glee, and instinctively reached up to cup his cheek, then used her thumb as a guide to move her lips to his sans the traditional head bashing, and kissed him soundly within an inch of his life.

Sometime later, his lady bespoke again, "Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Are you planning on marrying me anytime soon?"

"Captain Smyth was three sheets to the wind last time I saw him."

The least your valet can do is sober him up enough to say the words, what with the Captain saving his life.

With that, the gentleman could not quite resist spinning his lady around just once, before tucking her hand carefully in his arm and leaving the room practically at a run yelling, " **Fowler! Coffee!** "

* * *

Unbeknownst to each other, two friends who had lost contact along the way but would soon be reunited awoke at the same time, by the dubious light of a new moon. Neither lady could get back to sleep, nor could either of them see anything at all, nor was it time to arise. Both being pragmatic sorts, they naturally decided to engage in the only productive activity left to them – exploring their new husbands forms in some detail.

~~ Finis ~~

* * *

 _A/N: There you have it folks, the end of another story._

 _This one explored the idea of using an entirely new storytelling style with every chapter. You can decide if it's a feature or a bug, or whether software analogies are even appropriate in Regency JAFF stories. This one was subject to both feature and scope creep, making it like most software projects. I originally planned around 5-6 chapters and maybe 10-20k words. Once I got the bit in my teeth (there, a good horse analogy), it grew and grew. It ended up my third longest work at 90k words, or about 2/3 the size of the original P &P._

 _The most common request was for Lizzy to regain her sight, and while I can see the appeal, I resisted the temptation. I want her to be the woman of his dreams without her sight, and I imagine a life of worth and value just as she is. Of course, there was some temptation for her sight to be repaired by Charlotte bashing her head with her infamous workbox, but that's too easy._

 _I originally had much darker plans for Anne. The friendship between Darcy and Jane, and the Colonel's PTSD were all complete surprises to me, as was Charlotte's intervention. It just shows what happens when I put my characters in a pressure cooker and see what happens._

 _This is the end of the story, but I may do a brief epilogue next week._

 _Thank you for reading. II read and appreciate every single review or PM, so please drop me a line._

 _Wade_


	16. Epilogue

_A/N: That was the end of the story, but I had enough requests for a couple clues to the future I thought I'd give you a bit of an epilogue. I'll complete the circle with another dialogue-only chapter. This is about 10 years later. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing._

* * *

"Mrs. Darcy, would you mind terribly talking to a lady who has applied for a position."

"You do realize this is not my house, Mrs. Jamison?"

"Always the kidder, same as always, I see."

"Did you expect any different?"

"Of course not. T'wouldn't be right."

"How may I help you, Mrs. Jamison?"

"Well, ma'am. A widow about your age applied for the position of governess without a character. Mrs. Wilkinson believes we should look carefully at such, because much of the time the problem is with the old master, not the servant, so I did not dismiss her out of hand."

"Yes, I follow the same way of thinking."

"Well, you see ma'am, there is something… well, … something _off_ about this lady, but not off enough for me to just send her packing. I believe some of _your_ skills might be called for, because I cannot quite make her out."

"You may be giving me too much credit, Mrs. Jamison, but I will talk to her. What else can you tell me about her."

"Well, ma'am… from the way she talks I'd say she is a woman on her way down in the world, and in fact, it seems a precipitous decline. She was never first circles, but thought herself to be. Her clothes are expensive, and turned out somewhat neatly, but she clearly does not know how to care for them properly and does not have any help. Also, if I am not mistaken, she has missed more than one meal recently. She is at least a half-stone underweight."

"None of that seems problematic, Mrs. Jamison. It is a story as old as time. Why do you need me? You have hired women like that before, and with a governess you are just making the first cut. The mistress will make the final selection."

"I know, ma'am. I just could not do it this time… not without some advice."

"Bring her to me, please."

* * *

"Mrs. Harrison, ma'am."

"Oh! Pardon me, ma'am. My mistake. I am not… I will leave you. My apologies. Goodbye."

" **Caroline, Wait!** "

… …

 _"Please, wait"_

… …

"You _are_ the former Caroline Bingley, are you not?"

"Yes. My pardon, I will go. I had no idea you would be here, Mrs. Darcy. I will trouble you no more. Good day. I shall leave."

" _I wish you would not!"_

… …

"Please, Mrs. Harrison. Come back and sit down. I shall not harm you. Mrs. Jamison, may we have some tea, and perhaps some bread, cheese and biscuits. I am famished."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please sit down, Mrs. Harrison. I assume this is very difficult for you, but… well, just please sit. Let me help you."

… …

"I apologize, Mrs. Darcy. I had no idea you were here."

"Mrs. Wilkinson is my good friend, but she is nearing confinement. I am here to assist her, but she is napping just now."

"Sleeping like the dead, I imagine… or else tossing and turning trying to get a less agonizing position."

"Yes"

"Mrs. Darcy… I… I…"

"Mrs. Harrison, we had a disagreement over a decade ago. Might we just leave it behind us."

"I do not know if I can… or how you can be generous enough to…"

"Let it go, Mrs. Harrison. The words were unkind, and you were violently disagreeable, but it all worked out in the end. I suffered some, but much good came of that night, so please just let it go. I have! Might you tell me how you came to be here, if it is not asking too much?"

"Well…"

"Or keep your own council… you need not confide in me. I will not break your privacy. I admit I have not kept track of you these ten years, and your brother… well, you know he is not even in England just now. I have not personally spoken to him or Jane for nearly two years."

"Yes, well… the way we parted… well, ma'am… I would not expect you to know of me. I am surprised you will even receive me."

"It was one unkind remark, Mrs. Harrison. May we consider it in the past?"

… …

"It was much worse than…"

"Let it go, Mrs. Harrison! _I like to think of the past only as it gives me pleasure_ , and I shall insist you oblige me."

… …

"Thank you, Mrs. Darcy."

"Let us have tea, and then you will tell me how I can help you."

* * *

"Thank you, Mrs. Jamison."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mrs. Harrison… might I make an observation?"

"Yes"

"My hearing is particularly acute. It goes with the blindness, I imagine. I could hear your stomach growling from the other room. Might I assume Mrs. Jamison brought enough food for a half-dozen stout men?"

"She did."

"Eat… and then when you are ready to talk, I will be ready to listen. I will only ask that you pour my tea and put it here on this table along with bread and cheese."

"Milk and sugar… a lot of sugar."

"You remember?"

"Yes, Mrs. Darcy. I may be a terrible person, but I was a good hostess."

"I am all astonishment! Now, eat!"

* * *

"Mrs. Darcy, I feel I must tell you my story."

"Only as much as you wish to."

"You are not curious?"

"Of course, I am, but I do not pry."

"I am asking for help. You have a right to ask."

"And yet, I shall not. I can hear… may I tell you something Mrs. Jamison?"

"Of course!"

"I have a sort of a preternatural ability to read more into people's voices than anyone ever shows on their face. In your voice I hear pain, fear and perhaps some contrition. Do I deceive myself?"

… …

"No"

"Then continue your story."

… …

"After my brother threw me out of Netherfield, I tried once again to contact Mr. Darcy and he cut me direct. I never believed he would do so, but he did."

"I am sorry for that."

"You should not be. I deserved it."

"Perhaps…"

"Do not mince words, Mrs. Darcy. It does not suit you. I deserved it… at least be honest about that."

"Yes, you did. I have said it is forgotten, so take me at my word. What happened after that?"

"I did manage to _marry well._ Or at least I thought I did. A clever man of large fortune. No title, but he seemed perfect."

"May I assume he was _not_?"

"You may."

"How so"

"He was a gambler, drinker, and womanizer, but kept it well hidden. He spent all of his fortune over three or four years, then all of mine."

 _"Oh… I am so sorry!"_

"It happens, Mrs. Darcy. Then…"

"Take your time."

"Then he got himself killed in a duel in Italy, leaving some… let us say… well… less than reputable people out for blood. I barely managed to escape back to England, and I have hardly a penny to my name."

"Unless I miss my guess though, you have something else… something more precious?"

"You really can hear things unsaid…"

"Yes, I can. I have yet to meet anyone who can dissemble or lie to me, and I have been sorely tested."

"I have two daughters… They are three and five years old. I will do anything for them. I would have killed or died for them if I thought it would do any good. Now they are all I live for."

"Where are they now."

"I left them with a lady in a boarding house I stay at in…"

"I hear a bit of a caustic laugh in the back of your throat, Mrs. Harrison."

"That is just the chuckle of irony, Mrs. Darcy. I am lodging in Cheapside."

"I admit, I see the humor."

… …

"What are their names, if I may ask?"

"Claire and Emily."

"Are they as hungry as you are?"

"No, but they will be ready for supper soon."

"So, you have been feeding them, at the expense of your own health?"

"Of course. You would too."

"Yes, imagine I would. May I ask you a question, Mrs. Harrison?"

"Of course."

"Why did you not come to me at Darcy house? Or write to your brother? Did you really believe I would let my nieces starve?"

"They are not your nieces."

"Are they not? They are quite close. You are sister to my sister, so they might as well be my nieces."

"It makes sense when you put it that way, I imagine, but the thought never occurred to me."

"So why did you not ask for help?"

"Can you really believe I would have thought forgiveness was possible?"

"Were you afraid we would take them, or interfere in their upbringing?"

… …

… …

"Mrs. Harrison?"

… …

"Perhaps, but I think it might have just been my pride. I thought if I could get a position, then I could eventually hold my head up… eventually have my girls think their mother was… well…. worthy of something more than charity from a family who rightly despised her."

"I understand. May I ask you one other thing?"

"Yes"

"Is that still your aim? To become a governess… become a teacher."

"If that allows me to raise my girls well, then yes."

"I have an idea. Can you teach a couple of girls all the accomplishments you learned in your seminary, without the condescension, bad manners, social climbing and vindictiveness?"

"I am not what I was, Mrs. Darcy. I cannot claim to be the best of women, or even much better than the worst, but if you will give me a chance, I will not disappoint you."

"Very well. Would you mind ringing the silver bell?"

"Of course."

* * *

"Ma'am"

"Mrs. Harrison, could you call for my carriage, and… I think… Martha…. Yes, Martha… And Joshua. I wish them to assist me."

"Yes, of course."

* * *

"Mrs. Darcy."

"Ah, Joshua. I cannot leave your mistress just now, so I would ask some assistance."

"Of, course"

"Would you kindly escort Martha and Mrs. Harrison in the carriage to pick up her two daughters. They are three and five years of age. Martha, I would like them fed, bathed, combed, in new bedrails and tucked into bed in that order as soon as it may be arranged. Take a hamper with you for the girls, and another for the lady taking care of them. Borrow some clothing from Jenny and Susan. Joshua, please pay any due on her lodging and a bit extra."

"Where shall I take them, ma'am."

"Take them to Darcy House of course."

"Do I rightly understand you, Mrs. Darcy. You are offering me employment?"

"Yes of course. I thought that was obvious."

"I… I… I cannot… well…"

"You can tell me later. Right now, you must see to your girls."

"Will… that is to say… do you really want me in your home? That will be…"

"Uncomfortable? Painful? Embarrassing? Patronizing?"

"Yes… all those and more."

"It most certainly shall be. I believe you have learned _some_ of life's lessons, Mrs. Harrison, but need to learn some others. Do not worry! We will see you well settled or married to a man I trust eventually, but for the moment, I believe I have a few things to teach you about forgiveness. You are welcome to go when that sound of skittishness and fear leaves your voice, but be aware you will _never_ fool me on this or any other subject."

"And, Mr. Darcy will go along with the scheme?"

"Of course."

"I am skeptical, Mrs. Darcy. I truly do not wish to importune him."

"You do not wish to importune him, or suffer embarrassment yourself."

"I would hope the former, but I am a poor judge of my own motivations."

"We shall see. My husband is neither the man from Netherfield, nor the man you think he is. We have been through much. You will be fine, and he will dote on your girls. All will be well. I will get him a note as soon as you leave and invite him here. You will not see him until tomorrow, under my protection."

… …

"It will be fine, Caroline. Go get your precious cargo."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"Mrs. Darcy, I cannot thank you enough."

"Thank me by raising my nieces well."

"That reminds me. Who exactly am I to be teaching? You seem to enjoy omitting details."

"Why, my nieces of course! Oh dear, I imagine that was confusing."

"So, you plan to pay me to raise my own children?"

"Of course!"

"Why?"

"Two reasons, really. First off, I have five boys, Mrs. Harrison! **Five boys!** My dinner table is more like a rugby pitch than anything else. Jane has four, Mary has three. My friend upstairs has two, and may even have another on the way as we speak. Not a daughter among them. Not a single one. I am quite outnumbered. You will be doing me a service by evening out the numbers."

… …

"Was that a little chuckle, Caroline?"

"Yes, I wonder if I am jumping from the pan into the fire."

"Well, do not be concerned. My boys are very well behaved… well, they are reasonably behaved… well, they are mostly well behaved… well, perhaps… yes, they are fine upstanding gentlemen, if a little mischievous."

"Should I be running back to Italy?"

"It is much too late."

… …

"Go get your girls, and Caroline… do you mind if I call you Caroline, and you call me Elizabeth… _not_ Eliza… Elizabeth?"

"I might find it odd, but I will adapt… Elizabeth?"

"Caroline, you asked _why?_ "

"Yes, and you gave a half‑answer, but I will not complain."

"Let me give you a better answer."

"I would appreciate that."

"You will understand _why_ I do this when _you no longer need to ask why?_ When you fully understand that I had no other alternative, _then_ you will understand. If it must be explained, you cannot understand. Once you are capable of understanding, you will not need an explanation."

"I do not understand."

"I do not expect you to, but you will."

"Thank you, Mrs. … Elizabeth."

"You are welcome, Caroline. Go bring me some reinforcements."


End file.
